


Diamonds of Steele: Steeling a Dream Part One

by SteeleHoltingOn



Series: Diamonds of Steele/Two Holts 'Verse [1]
Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Picks up at the end of Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-08
Updated: 2009-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 101,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleHoltingOn/pseuds/SteeleHoltingOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steele's past comes back to haunt him and Laura may be the one to pay the price.<br/>Begins at the end of Season 5.</p><p>All people can love. Some will be content with the simple loves, some will love easily, and some will love hesitantly.<br/>There are those that are capable of great love— the kind that demands absolute trust, honest friendship and grand passion.<br/>Those people will never be happy with anything less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: There are elements beginning in chapter 10 that some may find disturbing, so please mind the tags, but I wrote the  
> story knowing Remington and Laura can handle more than most ...

 

  
**Prologue**   
****  
****_Summer 1978_

_The man slid from shadow to shadow inside the darkened building.  Light shimmered through the_ _windows, intermittently casting long squares of light in the hallway through the occasional open door._ _At the end of the corridor, a tall, slim man blended into the wall next to a securely locked door.  He_ _crouched, sliding a pair of metal instruments into the lock.  Without a single sound, he turned the knob_   
_with a gloved hand and pushed the door open._

_Inside the little office, the safe was situated exactly as described.  He pressed an ear to the_ _combination lock and had it open in less than twenty seconds.  He located the pretty emerald necklace_ _and matching earrings by feel alone.  His fingers danced across the remaining jewelry and loose_ _stones, looking for the unusual, but only the ordinary remained._

_Per his usual modus operandus, he trailed his sensitive fingers across each surface and object in the_ _office.  On the top edge of the window frame, he found the extraordinary.  He moved away from the_ _glass and hunkered down on the floor in the moonlight.  Three tiny stones spilled out of the miniature_ _envelope into his glove, flashing red in the low light.  He returned them to the packet and concealed_ _them with the necklace and earrings inside a special pocket hidden in the seam of his jacket._

_He left the office, leaving the safe open and breaking the door knob behind him.  He tripped the alarm_ _on his way out the door._


	2. The Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story begins during the last episode, “Steeled With a Kiss, Part 2.”

Irish weather in the very early spring sometimes left a lot to be desired.  Today was typical: cloudy, with temperatures made colder by the rain.  A black hearse, flanked by Russian soldiers, waited in the driveway of Ashford Castle.  With stoic formality, four of the uniformed men lifted the coffin and inserted it inside.  One man closed the doors while the others saluted in respect.  The soldiers returned to their own car and followed as the hearse pulled away, leaving only three people standing in the drizzle.  All three had their hands in their pockets, although the two women turned to the man in the middle as if in choreographed unison.  
  
The man looked down at the woman on his left.  “I want to stay here until he’s buried, Laura.  If you need to go back to the States because of the agency, I understand.  I’ll be along in a few days.”  Again he stared off into the distance, as if he could still see the hearse in the evening light.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Steele.”  Laura frowned at him.   _Did he really think I would?  He's just lost a parent, for Heaven’s sake.  
  
_ “Thank you, Miss Holt.”  He gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek as he did Mildred, the woman standing on his other side, before wandering off into the gardens with his hands in his pockets, lost in his own thoughts.  
  
_Miss Holt?  What happened to Mrs. Steele?_  Now Laura had something else to worry about.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
It was midnight before he returned to the castle--and the bedroom they were supposed to share.  She waited on the sofa, staring into the fire.   
  
“I, uh, I’m going to take a shower.”  His voice was stilted and awkward.  
  
Laura nodded and let him go, still watching the flames in the fireplace dance along the logs.  She was glad he'd duucked into the bathroom and had no doubts his hurry was to avoid conversation.  _Where do we go from here?_ She had entertained the hope that their time in Ireland would allow them the chance to make some decisions about their so-called marriage, the agency, and their on-again-off-again relationship.  But once more, life intervened and threw up a roadblock.  At times like this, it seemed to be a dozen stories tall and impossibly wide.  
  
Quite a while later, Remington sat beside her, startling her out of her thoughts.  It didn’t take much to see the strain in his handsome face.  As much as she longed to run her hands along his bare chest, visible where the dressing gown gaped open, she wanted much more to ease the stress from his eyes and to soothe his heart.  Lightly, she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged his head down to rest on her shoulder.  Later, when the fire burned low, she shifted so that his head rested against her breast.  Holding him that way felt good. _I hope it helps.  
  
_ Even breathing moments later clued Laura in that Remington was out like a light.  Had that ever happened before?  Certainly, she had dozed in his arms more than once.  While she tried to decide, she closed her own eyes--letting let her mind drift until sleep claimed her as well.  
  
  
  
The morning was uncomfortable.  The words between them still wouldn’t come, and Remington escaped the bedroom rather quickly, leaving Laura frustrated at her inability to cross the divide.  She had breakfast with only Mildred as her vanishing partner had already skipped out and bolted from the house.  
  
 “How’s he doing this morning, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
Drooping a little with sadness, Laura shrugged.  “I don’t know.  We ... we didn’t talk much at all.  I have to tell you, I can’t remember a time that we couldn’t at least yell at each other.  I ... I don’t know what to say to him.”  
  
Mildred shrewdly eyed the younger woman.  “It seems to me that you two need time to work this all out.  I decided last night that I’m going home today.  I’ll handle the agency.  Until you and Mr. Steele have some answers, there’s no point in your coming home.”  
  
Laura crossed her arms and looked miserable.  “I had hoped you would stay.”  
  
With a no-nonsence attitude, Mildred sternly reprimanded her.  “No, I’m not running interference for you two.  Either it’s time to make this little dance work, or it’s time to let it go, Mrs. Steele.  You’re both miserable and Mr. Steele is grieving.  That’s no way to live, kiddo.  Mickeline is taking me to the airport in a couple of hours.”  
  
“Mickeline?”  
  
“Yeah, he’s a nice fellow.  He wants to see me off personally.”  She leaned over conspiratorially.  “He keeps asking when I’ll be coming back.”  
  
Laura tried to work up a smile and nodded her head.  “I’ll call you in a couple of days.  Maybe we can get something worked out by then.”  The disbelief in Mildred's face only reminded her that the pile of issues standing between her and Mr. Steele had grown large and wide in the last few weeks.  
  
Once Laura saw Mildred and Mickeline off to the airport, she hunted for Remington . A passing gardener thought he’d seen the young lord walking down the road earlier.  After searching for the afternoon and failing to find him, she sighed and returned to the castle, left alone with her thoughts.  
  
Remington returned deep in the night, long after Laura had given up and crawled between the sheets.  This time he lay on the bed beside Laura and slept with his arm wrapped around her.  And like the morning before, he escaped, but not before she realized he was there.  Miserable and confused, Laura spent another day on her own, contemplating their lives.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
During this time, Remington struggled with his emotions.  Torn between hurt, anger and love for both Daniel and Laura, he felt somewhat betrayed by both of them for different reasons.  
  
Daniel had only confessed to being his real father hours before dying, leaving Remington confused and angry at the deception that had lasted for twenty years.  He was grateful that he'd had at least a few happy moments with his father before he died but felt guilty about still being angry with him.  He had few answers to a hundred questions.  
  
He reflected over the angry young lad he’d been and certainly understood his father’s reasons for not telling him of their relationship at that point.  He probably would have run fast and hard enough to get himself killed in the process.  But it didn’t help to remember that one of Daniel’s perennial failings was his constant evasion of reality.  Why live with a painful truth when a delightful little lie will soothe things over?  It was one of the things that both  intrigued and annoyed Remington throughout the years.  
  
He tried long strolls in the gardens to quell his emotions but found little solace in the process.  He only knew that he didn’t dare take out his frustration on Laura for fear of breaking apart what little relationship they had at this point.  
  
It took most of the second day to understand why he felt as if he were lost at sea.  His normally solid Laura, the one person he could count on and he knew to be as predictable as the sun, had blown with the wind these last two months.  Since the nightmare with the Immigration and Naturalization Service, there had been none of the teasing, flirting and good-natured rivalry that marked their day-to-day relationship.  Laura lived at the edge of her emotions, snapping at him for the least little thing and giving neither of them room to breathe.  He wasn’t any better, finding himself saying and doing things that he knew would make her angry.  
  
In retrospect, he realized now that he had wanted her to fight for him and their relationship, to know that it meant a great deal to her.  Instead, she conducted a flirtation right under his nose that made him see red.  
  
Their friendship and quasi-love affair had taken a hard beating.  Hardly three months ago he told her he was ready to commit to her.  He knew Laura was struggling with accepting him, but he’d had the definite feeling she was coming around.  At this moment, though, he wasn’t sure if she even wanted him in the picture.  
  
He realized that he had abused her trust, terribly.  More than once in the past year, Laura had placed her absolute faith in him and fought for him, even to the point of putting her agency on the line--and then he failed to place the same level of trust in her.  No wonder she was angry when she saw him running another scam to get himself out of trouble.  Hadn’t he learned that while Laura took the hard road, it usually worked out for the best?  Oh, he usually found a way to sneak in a shortcut or interesting detour, but the path was generally hers.  
  
Yet, he knew Laura.  Would she have really committed to him--unconditionally?  He didn’t think so.  And therein lay the crux of the problem.  
  
Still, again last night, he couldn’t resist holding her close.  She was his touchstone, whether or not she knew it.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
The idle time forced Laura to confront her own emotions.  She was very good at avoiding thinking about her heart, but freed from dealing with the agency for the time being and with Remington off to his own devices, she had little choice but to face her own feelings head-on.  
  
She knew that she was incredibly angry with Remington for not trusting her with the truth about the INS.  Granted, the immigration issue was a very personal one to him, and beyond the fact that it could affect her agency, she had honestly thought that they could confide those kinds of things to each other by now.  
  
But then she came to a couple of startling realizations.  First, despite what she told him, she would have married him, quite for real, to keep him from being deported.  She had no idea how they would work things out, but she couldn’t imagine him not being in her life.  Laura couldn’t think of a single solution that would not have involved her saying some sort of vows.  At least she felt better about a quasi-marriage on a tuna boat.  She wasn’t sure if she would be happy or disappointed to discover the marriage was real.     
  
The second revelation dawned the next day.  It was nearly evening when she finally came to the understanding that most of her anger was directed at herself, for the simple act of falling in love.  She had promised herself to never risk heartbreak again--and that promise lay in tatters at her feet.  With that came the realization that it didn’t matter whether or not Remington loved her in return.  If he left today, her heart would be broken anyhow.  It was simply too late not to fall in love.  
  
She was smart enough to accept that she couldn’t fall out of love.  Not now.  No matter what he might do, some part of her heart would always be with him, just as it was with her father.  On the heels of that thought came a new truth: the only way to avoid a broken heart was for them to _be_ irrevocably in love.  Was it too late for that?  
  
  
*****  
  
  
When Remington came back from his wanderings long after dark again, Laura wasn't in their bedroom.  Unable to sleep without her, he'd wandered the silent castle until he found her curled up on the chaise lounge amongst all the musty tomes of the library.  One of her arms dangled off the edge, her fingers nearly touching the floor.   
  
Eying her, he decided it was too far to carry her to their bed.  Instead, he found a blanket in a chest and pulled a pillow off the sofa.  He stretched out on the floor next her so that her hand rested on his heart.     
  
  
*****  
  
In the morning, Laura peered over the edge of the chaise to find Remington blinking sleepily at her from the floor.  She squeaked when he pulled her down on top of him and fairly ravaged her mouth, causing her body to hum.  Just as quickly, he rolled them over, lifted himself off and stood before she could lodge a rotest.  With all the élan he’d ever demonstrated, he helped her to her feet, tucked her arm in his and escorted her to breakfast despite their obvious lack of morning toilette.  
  
It was those little things about him that fascinated Laura.  He always kept her slightly off balance.  Hope sprang up in Laura’s heart.  Maybe it wasn’t too late.  
  
For the first time in weeks, they enjoyed each other’s company.  Over eggs and bacon, Remington cautiously suggested that they drive into Galway for lunch.  Laura accepted just as guardedly, but with the stipulation that they at least shower and change clothes.  Remington bit his lip to avoid the obvious risqué remark, but she saw it dancing in his eyes anyway and had to look away to hide her own small grin.  
  
The pair spent a pleasant day together taking in some of the more historic sites around the city.  Remington always made a wonderful tour guide, and Laura was an avid listener as they climbed staircases and peeked into long-unused corridors of the abbeys and castles they visited.  
  
Slowly, they recovered their bearings and by the end of the day, they were gently bantering.  They made light jokes and teasing comments that did much to restore their confidence in one another.  From time to time, something would remind Remington of Danie.  She did her best to know when he needed a moment to reflect and when to cajole him out of his suddenly somber mood.  
  
He held her hand all the way home.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
It still took another two days before Remington approached her at breakfast.  He took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers.   _Here we go, mate.  It’s now or never._  “Laura, we need to talk.”  
  
“I know.  But let’s take a walk while we do it.”  
  
Outside the castle, the air was brisk and the sun was warm, perfect for a stroll.  The couple headed for the expansive lawns.  Still holding her hand, Remington pulled Laura into his embrace.   _Breathe, old chap.  Say the words.  She needs them._  “You must know by now that I love you.”  
  
“I do.”  Her face lit up, stunned though she was by his outright admission.  “I love you.  I have for a long time.”   
  
Apparently, he had needed them, too. _I didn’t realize._  “You’ve captivated me since the day I introduced myself to you as Ben Pearson.”  
  
“It was the magnum of champagne that did it for me.”  She smiled in remembrance.  
  
“Good to know.  I’ll try it again next time.”  
  
She cocked her head and sent him a flirtatious smile.  “Only with me.”  
  
He touched her forehead with his middle finger and drew a lock of hair to the side.  “I ... I need to explain about Clarissa.”  Remington began walking again, tucking her arm in his.  Laura crinkled her brow.  
  
“When Immigration contacted me, I simply had no idea what to do and I panicked.  I thought that marrying Clarissa would buy me time to make things right with you.  I never realized I would have to pretend to be married to her and share quarters, certainly not for two years.”  He paused, taking a deep breath.  “I’m still afraid of being deported and destroying all sorts of things: I said that I would never leave you, and I would be breaking that promise--not to mention the havoc it would wreak in the agency and on whatever slim chance we have to be together.  
  
“Laura, I told you some time ago that I was ready to commit to you.  But I never wanted you to feel that you had to marry me.  I still don’t know if I could have asked you to marry me for any reason other than I love you and want to share my life with you.  If I thought for one moment that you would have believed me, it might have been different.  I haven’t stayed these past years because I wanted to get you into the sack.  Although that part is rather, hmmmm, shall we say, an intriguing concept?”  He kissed the back of her hand but kept it clasped in his.  
  
They walked quietly for a moment while Laura thought.  “What is Clarissa to you?”  
  
Remington hesitated before answering, “She’s a sweet girl that I’ve helped out from time to time.  She owed me a favor.”  
  
“You’ve helped her?  How?”  
  
“Occasionally--in her line of work--she’s been in a tight spot here and there.  She knows she can count on me.”  
  
“Why?  I mean, not why can she count on you, but why do you help her?”  
  
Remington laid a finger aside his nose and scratched.  “Because I keep hoping she’ll find something better to do.  It’s a hard life, Laura.  Eventually that kind of life will take its toll, and she’ll end up on drugs or dead.”  He walked quietly for a moment.  “It’s one of the things you learn on the streets.  A favor here and there can pay off down the road.  She owed me one and I tried to collect.”  
  
Laura abruptly stopped walking.  “I know I shouldn’t ask, but I will.  Are you sleeping with her?”  
  
“No, I never have.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
He frowned at her question.  “For the same reason I haven’t slept with anyone in a while.  Good Lord, what was I supposed to do?  Take some woman out, court her long enough to seduce her and not think of you?  Do you think I can kiss her, caress her, sleep with her and go back to the office to flirt with you and take you to dinner Friday night?  I’ve not had many standards in my life, but I’ve never done that to you.  Yes, I’ve taken women out, mostly to make you a bit jealous, but I’ve not slept with anyone in quite some time.”  Remington’s irritation showed in the tightness of his jaw.    
  
Somewhat bitterly, he added, “There have been times when you have flirted and kissed and left me so damned hard that a cold shower in the Arctic couldn’t cool me down.  But I’ve played your game because I’m too damned in love with you.”  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Laura wasn’t sure what to think.  She had always assumed Remington had his flings, and quite a while ago she had resolved not to think of it.  To find out that he had been chaste for some time was a revelation.  Slowly, she resumed their walk and ducked her head in embarrassment.  “I’m always underestimating you, Remington, and I’m rather ashamed to admit it.  Perhaps I bought into your fascinating man-about-town persona a little too well.”  
  
“Care to elaborate on that?”  
  
“Ah, whew ... all right.”  She glanced at her friend with a hint of determination and humor.  “You charm me.  You always have.  You’re everything I’ve ever wanted: intelligent, witty, handsome, caring beyond belief.  You respect who I am and what I do.”  Growing serious, she added, “Quite frankly you terrify me--no, that’s not right--I’m terrified by how much I need you.  It cuts right into my determination to be an independent woman.  All I’ve ever wanted is to stand on my own.”  
  
“Ah, Laura, all I’ve ever wanted is you,” Remington sighed.  
  
Laura was quiet for several minutes as they crossed between the verdant lawns and sat on a stone bench in the elegantly manicured gardens.  Then she spoke.  “I believe you now.  I don’t know that I would have believed you even a week ago.  I was so angry with you.  I couldn’t believe you chose Clarissa.  When have I ever not been there when you needed me?  And I was there for you.  You only had to ask.”  
  
“I know.  That’s my failing.  I should have trusted you, but I’m afraid of a marriage where we carry on as things were.  I can’t bear to live with you and not have you ... and Laura, I mean more than just sexually, although that’s part of it.  I need your heart.”  
  
“It’s yours, Remington.”  
  
He smiled as he heard her say his name without thinking for the first time.  
  
Laura looked into the sky.  “I’d rather not admit it, but you’re right about not wanting to marry me under false pretenses.  I probably would have let things carry on the way they were.  If it weren’t for the past few days--”  She shook her head, unable to say the words.  “I’ve let something that happened to my parents, and later with Wilson, to control my life.  I’ve been so afraid that if you really knew me, you would leave.  But all these years, every time I let some of the precocious, cocky and adventurous Laura out, you’ve been thrilled.  I think if I had performed that silly fan dance for you, you would have swept me off my feet and not let me out of the hotel room for a week.”  
  
“You know me too well,” Remington murmured.  
  
“Frankly, I was expecting Wilson to do that, but I shocked him too much.  Nothing shocks you, mostly because you’ve either seen it or done it already.”  Laura stared morosely at the ground.  
  
Remington tipped her chin up.  “I haven’t been in love like this before.  I haven’t had someone willing to sacrifice everything she is for me.  I haven’t had a name and a home before.  You’ve given me those things, and they are more precious to me than any gem I ever lifted.”  Remington pressed a tender kiss to Laura’s forehead before capturing her lips in sweet passion that promised a great deal more.  
  
With no little regret, Laura pulled away and stood to resume their walk.  “Think we can put that whole mess behind us?"  
  
“Indeed we can, love.”    
  
Warmth flooded her from head to toe at the endearment.  “Okay, then, my turn.  About Tony.”  Remington stiffened perceptibly.  “Tony was my way of punishing you for Clarissa.  I encouraged him when I really wanted things to work with you.  I was angry with you and wanted to make you jealous.  
  
“You succeeded quite nicely there.”  
  
“I tried.  Tony believes that you don’t really want me, and I’m staying with you just because of INS.  I’m not sure how to convince him otherwise.”  
  
_With another fist to his bloody jaw, if necessary_.  Remington started to speak, hesitated, and then continued, “Did you feel something for him?”  
  
Laura considered her words before answering.  “Remington, you will understand that there is simple and there is complicated.  Tony is simple.  Sort of like a cheap chardonnay.  You?  You’re a fine red wine--deep, rich, complex--and the taste keeps teasing your palate long after you’ve drunk.  The cheap chardonnay might seem like a good idea, but once you’ve rolled it around on your palate, you spit it out and go back to the red, even though the red affects your taste for anything else.  I felt betrayed by you, and Tony was there for a moment, but only for a moment.”  She paused and then added, “If it helps, I’ll tell you that I never even considered sleeping with him.”  Laura fell silent.  
  
“I never thought you did,” replied Remington; then he too grew quiet.  They walked along the pebbled path to the walled garden, listening to the chirping birds and the blowing wind.  
  
At last he spoke again, “Perhaps we can put that mess behind us as well.”  He squeezed her hand and then placed his arm around her shoulders as they walked on.  Abruptly he stopped and faced Laura.  “Did you mean it about not carrying on as we were?”  
  
She flushed, feeling the heat crawl up her face.  “Yes.”  
  
“You’ll love me ... in every sense of the word?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Tonight?”  
  
“Yes.”  She sounded sure of herself now.  
  
Suddenly, Remington looked as nervous as a sixteen-year-old virgin.  He swallowed hard to keep his composure.  “Well, well, well, it appears that we have some plans to make.”  
  
Laura threw him a wide smile and danced a few steps backwards toward the castle.  “What are we waiting for?”  She broke into a run, leaving him standing dumb-founded on the lawn.  
  
He caught up with her halfway back, claiming her for a searing kiss that left them breathless with anticipation.  She cleverly ducked out of his embrace and led him on a merry chase over the lawn and through the gardens where they exchanged quick kisses and caresses that further cemented their need for each other.  
  
By the time they reached the castle, Remington gasped for breath and begged Laura to stop.  Giggling, she collapsed onto the chair in the drawing room, fanning herself with her hand.  He slumped against the doorway, but the light in his blue eyes dazzled her.  
  
When he recovered, he approached her and kissed the back of her hand as if he were wearing the most formal of dress attire.  “Miss Holt, might I suggest a hearty lunch and a period of rest this afternoon?  The evening promises to be a long and delightful one.  If one might presume on your time, I’d like to meet you in the foyer at eight this evening.”  
  
“And how should I dress, Mr. Steele?”  
  
“Casual will do.  It is the country.”  
  
“Certainly, Mr. Steele.  If I may take my leave to begin my preparations?”  
  
He pulled her to her feet.  “Of course, Miss Holt.  My pleasure.”  He admired her sensual strut all the way out the door, his heart pounding in double-time.  
  
Laura didn’t think she would sleep, but the huge lunch the servants had prepared at their lordship’s request lulled her into a light doze.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Remington stood over the bed watching her breathe. _The next time she sleeps, it will be after I’ve had her._ Without thinking, he said a small prayer.   _Please God, let us make this work._  Virtuously covering her with a blanket, he stretched out on top of it and laid his arm across her waist.   _Never again._  It was his last thought for a long time.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
She woke first, wholly unsurprised to find him there; after all, every night for the past week she’d found him next to her in some form or fashion.  A frission of excitement bubbled up.  An enormous part of her wanted to wake up Remington in the most delicious way.  But with iron-willed suppression, she told her libido to wait.  One thing was for sure, her Mr. Steele knew how to draw romance out of even the most benign of occasions, and they had waited far too long for just a quick dip in the pool.  
  
She did indulge herself by unabashedly looking at him while he slept.  She admired his bare feet, noting the long toes and neatly trimmed nails.  She giggled to herself, thinking of the old adage about long feet.  Biting her lip, she let her gaze wander up his legs, thinking the denim manufacturers should pay him for advertising.  Long, slim and perfectly fitted at the hips, the jeans hinted at the man hidden underneath.  _Down girl.  You can look, but you can’t touch._  She half-wished he was lying on his stomach so she could admire his rear, but since he wasn’t, she contented herself with speculating about the package lying tantalizingly under the zipper.  Over the years, she had encountered it just often enough to know that the man carried a highly lethal weapon.  She flushed. _Oh Lord, you’ve got to stop, Laura.  It’s just a few more hours.  
  
_ Wrenching her gaze upward, she smiled at the half-unbuttoned shirt he wore.  Little curls of black hair peeked through the open vee, and she had to clasp her hands together to keep from playing with them.  It was a damned good thing he wore shirts and ties at the office.  On the occasions he dispensed with the tie and opened his shirt there, she generally had to avoid him outright.  At first, she didn’t realize he knew how attractive she found it, but after the first few occasions, she had caught his sly smirk.  He loved seeing her get flustered by the view.  
  
She let her eyes travel up his throat, across his full lips, and then she blushed from head to toe.  Remington’s blue eyes were open, and he had been watching her perusal.      
  
  
******  
  
  
He had awakened when he felt her roll over to her side, but she was so busy taking in the view that he stayed silent, watching the emotions and desire play on her face.  To see her unguarded expressions was a rare gift indeed, and he rather thought he might treasure this moment.  
  
He slid his hand through her silky hair.  Cupping the back of her head, he held her in place while he leaned in to brush his lips against hers.  She leaned in to deepen the kiss, but he drifted away and rolled off the bed.  He flashed her a wide, charming smile.  “Anticipation, love, is everything.  I’ll see you at eight.”  
  
Two pillows, one of which connected with his bum, followed him out the door.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
At eight o’clock sharp, Laura paced in the foyer.  This was the fifth outfit she’d settled on in the last hour and she hoped it would be appropriate.  Casual, he had said.  At the moment she hated the word.  Casual jeans?  Casual slacks?  Casual skirt and blouse?  She drew the line at the skirt, not interested in wrestling with pantyhose this evening.  That line of thinking caused her to eventually pick black slacks and a white and silver sweater that showed off the natural red highlights in her hair which she had left long and loose and without even a pin to hold it back.  
  
The glass of wine Remington left on the bathroom counter did little to calm her nerves.  Any soothing qualities she might have enjoyed were countered by the fact he had slipped in unnoticed while she was singing ABBA’s “Mamma Mia” in the shower.  Anticipation again.  That and a heavy dose of mortification had her rubbing her own arms in the foyer.  
  
Remington left her waiting for fifteen solid minutes while he put the final touches on the scene he was setting.  Then he took a deep breath and strolled down the staircase.  
  
“I always thought the girl was supposed to make the grand entrance and be fashionably late,” Laura quipped.  She wondered how long he had been watching her.  Apparently long enough to change into black slacks and turtleneck as well, topped by a dark gray and black sweater.  In the past year, he had developed a habit of dressing in colors complimentary to hers.  Yum, was all she could think.  
  
“Next time it will be your turn.”  Remington’s cultured accent echoed as he descended the stairs.  Laura met him at the bottom and laced her fingers with his before touching his mouth lightly with hers.  “Are you hungry?” he asked.  
  
“Not particularly.”  Too many butterflies in her tummy.  
  
“Thank God.”  He pulled her to him, fastening his mouth to hers.  Remington found himself having serious thoughts about christening the staircase.  He forced himself to slow down and take a couple of steps back up the stairs.  “Come with me, Laura,” he coaxed as he took her hand.  
  
“I will, Remington.”  Hand in hand, they ascended the stairs together.  
  
Laura was dazzled by the bedroom.  In just the few minutes while she paced the foyer, Remington had set dozens of white candles all over the room.  The flickering candlelight danced in counterpoint to the roaring flames in the fireplace.  Light from the moon streamed through the windowpanes, landing on the bed before dripping to the floor.  The light from the single lamp by the doorway was wholly unnecessary.  
  
“Like it?”  Remington said from behind her.  
  
“It’s beautiful.  More than beautiful.”  She turned in his arms.  “It’s perfect.”  
  
Remington pulled the lamp cord, drenching Laura in darkness and candlelight.  His hands slid into her auburn hair, pulling her in for another sweet, savoring kiss while her fingers stroked his neck and toyed with the black strands of hair curling over his collar.  
  
For years, each of them had fantasized about this moment, this precious point in time where their partnership took a final, quirky twist from friends to lovers.  From the moment they had met, they’d acknowledged the instant attraction and simmering passion underlying every touch and every word.  The pair danced pretty steps around each other as they became friends, then partners, and now tonight, at long last, lovers.  
  
Many, many times in the past, she fought the intense passions he aroused in her.  But not tonight.  Tonight she was his and she melted under warm lips and elegant hands.  While one of those hands stayed tangled in her hair, the other slid firmly down her spine to her hip.  Then the man she loved for so long dipped under her knees and drew her firmly into in his arms and carried her the short distance to the enormous bed in the master’s suite of Ashford Castle.  
  
“Laura,” Remington’s blue eyes sparkled as he gave her a roguish grin, “I never quite thought this day would come.”  
  
“Hmmm.  Me neither.”  Her body hummed as she watched him yank off the sweater and toss it on a nearby chair before stretching out full length beside her, making contact at the breast, hip and intertwining a leg with hers.   “Before we get too far along, just what do you want me to call you?  Harry?”  Laura quirked up a brow, a habit she picked up from him long ago.  She had wondered all afternoon if he would prefer the name Daniel always used.  
  
Very seriously, he dropped a kiss in her hair.  “You gave me the only name I ever wanted to keep, Laura.”  
  
“Love me then, Remington,” Laura murmured, raising her mouth to his.  
  
And he did.  As a child of the streets, a con artist and a thief, he learned to watch people and to judge their emotions and reactions within a hairbreadth.  Seduction was merely another aspect of that skill.  Now he delighted in demonstrating what he had learned over the years on Laura’s wickedly slim form.  His hands skimmed down her body and back again.  He deepened his kiss, slipping his tongue inside to tangle with hers and withdrawing again to nibble on her lips.  
  
Fire ignited Laura’s body, and she kissed him back with equal fervor.  She felt his muscles flex as she slid her hands along his back before she dragged them through his hair.  Remington pressed his lips to the hollow of her collarbone as his hands slid under her sweater and pulled it over her head.  Laura tried to shove his turtleneck away, but he distracted her long enough with another deep, fiery kiss to pin her wrists above her head with one hand while the other roamed freely across the swatch of black silk covering her breasts.  
  
“Remington, please--” She meant for him to let her hands go, but the words stuck in her throat.  Tremors zipped through her when he tightened his grip.  
  
“Of course, Laura.”  He circled her nipple with his free hand and then lightly laved it through the silk.  As the fabric dampened and heated, Laura arched under Remington as shocks darted through her body and made her ache.  He turned his attention to the other breast, again wetting the fabric and licking lightly.  As Laura squirmed, he changed tactics and sucked deeply while stroking her body from waist to thigh and back again.  She twisted and moaned as he laved generously, teasing and tasting as he sent quickening shocks into her core.  When her hands clutched his and she arched her back, he suckled her breast deeply, taking her just to the breaking point before abruptly stopping and blowing lightly across her peaked nipple.  
  
Now she fully understood just how much restraint he had shown her over the years and exactly what skills he had at his disposal.  She’d suspected.  She couldn’t believe he had her so close to the edge, and his hands had hardly made it south of her waistline.   _Sometimes, I can be such an idiot._  “Don’t you dare leave me hanging,” she ordered.  She tried to pull away again, but he held her firmly.  
  
“But Laura, we’ve got all the time in the world for once.  It’s just not the kind of thing that needs to be rushed.  Besides,” he grinned lasciviously, “you made me wait.”  
  
She sighed.  “I guess I asked for that.”  
  
In answer, he swirled his tongue across her lips and dove into the kiss while she tried not to move, despite the fact that every inch of her skin was sensitized and burning to be touched.  And again, even slower than before, he traced his tongue down her neck, paying special attention to the freckles scattered across her breast and shoulders.  
  
The sight of those dappled marks filled Remington with unholy glee.  In four years, he could count on one hand the number of times Laura wore an outfit where they could really be seen.  The first time he danced with her, she wore a red dress with nary a strap across her shoulders, leaving every mark on display.  Since then, each time he caught a peek in the open vee of her shirt or the occasional scoop neckline, he remembered how lovely she looked with the spattering of freckles dashed across her.  He nipped lightly at them before resuming his path to her breasts.  Again he teased and tortured the responsive peaks, but this time he suckled deeply and long, pushing her right over the edge.  
  
He leaned on his elbow so he could watch her, reveling in the shocks coursing through her body.  His own throbbed in response.  Keen to demonstrate his devotion, he pressed one hand to himself in hopes that he could stifle the pressure long enough to make this a night to remember.  What he wanted to do was drag her up against the nearest wall and pound into her over and over again.  But if Daniel had drummed anything into his skull, it was to be a gentleman, and a true gentleman gave his partner pleasure time and again before taking his own.  
  
Of course, this was assuming that your partner desired a passive seduction where the man did all the work.  Laura was neither an innocent nor carelessly experienced, and she considered herself intelligent and creative.  Once she recovered from her first orgasm at Remington’s hands, she unlocked the ardor for him she'd stashed away for all those years.  
  
When he shifted to kiss her neck, she pulled her hands free and used her martial arts training to flip him onto his back and land astride his body.  As she settled onto his hips, his stiffness pressed firmly into her heat, and Remington had to close his eyes briefly as his shaft twitched--hard.  Slow up a bit, mate.  He tried to visualize a calming scene, but having Laura clad in only a wispy black bra while she straddled him scrambled his brains.  When she began rocking against him, his mind stuttered, and all the blood rushed south.    
  
His hands came up to caress her waist and to slip a strap off her shoulder.  Impatient, she reached back to divest herself of her bra.  Startled, he smiled up at her.  “Can’t wait a bit, can you?”  
  
“Just want you to keep up the pace, Mr. Steele.”  
  
He hummed a bit and leaned up to kiss her throat.  “I’ll be doing that, love.”  With a flick of the fingers, Remington loosened the catch.  He pulled the damp lingerie from her and tossed it to the side.  
  
Laura stilled completely, her eyes growing wide at hearing the endearment again.  But his arousal brought her back to reality, and she shoved his turtleneck up and over his head.  He helped her by giving it one last tug that flexed his pecs, and her eyes gleamed while she drew her hands down his firmly-muscled torso.  
  
She pressed her lips to the furred chest and rubbed her face in the black hair.  “Mmmm, I’ve wanted to do that for ever so long.”  She raked her unpainted nails softly across his nipples.  His pectoral muscles danced and twitched, and he grew even harder when she drew her tongue across each one in turn.  
  
Remington’s efforts to stem his pleasure were increasingly less successful as Laura rocked against him and rubbed her slender naked torso along his.  She leaned over to shove away the last of his shirt from his wrist when he took a pale breast into his mouth and rimmed her nipple with his tongue, causing her to nearly collapse over him.  He yanked at her slacks until they came free and then slid his hands into her soaked black panties.  He lifted her until she straddled him again.  
  
She bit her lips as his fingers slipped and glided, then finally pressed against that tangled knot of nerves.  He plucked her like a violin string while she chanted his name.  She gave that up as the pleasure peaked and her legs tightened in a vice-like grip.  
  
Remington pulled Laura to him as she shuddered.  He couldn’t resist tasting his fingers that were still moist with her essence.  She took note, her brown eyes widening again, finding it outrageously erotic.  
  
She slid free of his grasp and stood up next to the bed, dropping the wet underwear to the floor.  In the dancing candlelight, he could see her peaked nipples, glistening thighs and the faint blush across her skin.  He reached for her, only to have her lightly slap away his hands.  
  
“No.  My turn.”  No courtesan could match Laura’s avaricious smirk.  Remington grinned appreciatively and toed off his shoes and socks.  She carefully unbuttoned his slacks, “accidentally” bumping around and sliding her hands along his throbbing heat.  She spent long minutes stroking and tugging off his briefs, biting her lip again as he clutched a headboard, sheet, pillow--or whatever else he could find--during her ministrations.  
  
When he was stripped bare and entirely exposed, Laura’s face warmed.   She was no stranger to lovemaking, but seeing her dearest friend stretched across the bed reminded her of all the wild fantasies she had envisioned about him.  It seemed that one or two of them started out this way ... but she had forgotten one minor, well, major detail.  
  
“Blushing bride tonight?”  Remington grinned again.  He always found it endearing when Laura became aggressive.  He loved her passion and he loved to match that passion, but he also found her periodic hesitations just as appealing.  Sitting up on one arm, he tugged her to him.  
  
She took the opportunity to stroke firmly down his long length with a finger, causing him to jerk violently.  “I don’t know why I assumed you would be circumcised, but this ... this is lovely.”  
  
“Ah, Good Lord, Laura, don’t stop.  Whatever you do, don’t stop.”  Her single touch jolted his core.  He panted for a moment.  “Are you implying that you, ah, haven’t played with one like this before.”  
  
“Mmm, no, can’t say that I have.  And as a very thorough private investigator, I’m certain I need to do extensive research into the matter.”  She gently stroked the foreskin, sliding it back and forth over the top of the pulsing head.  He tried his best to remain perfectly still but lost the battle when she covered him with her mouth.  He wove his fingers in her hair while she suckled, sometimes hard, sometimes softly.  When she curved a soft hand around the base and squeezed, he jumped as pleasure streaked through his entire being.  
  
He had wholly underestimated her effect on him.  To know in the darkest shadows of his heart that Laura wanted him, without reservation, awed and humbled him.  Each time her body pressed against his, he shuddered with need.  Each time she responded to his lightest touch, his own desires heightened.  And tonight, after four long years of keeping him at bay, she was holding nothing back. _Thank God.  
  
_ Before he lost all sensibility, he dragged her up and over his body for a drugging kiss.  Laura tried to sit astride him once again, but Remington had a few practiced moves of his own.  He rolled her to her back and braced himself above her.  
  
“No, darling, some things are meant to be done a certain way, at least the first time.”  Laura protested his arrogance and tried to move, but Remington tangled his hands in hers over her head, letting his full weight rest on her briefly.  As he brushed his mouth to hers, she felt him resting just at her entrance.  Slick and hot, her tight passage clenched and spasmed while he pressed inward.  She squeezed his hands hard and sucked in her breath, feeling like a butterfly pinned to paper.  While she was certainly not an innocent, five years was a long time.  And he wasn’t exactly packing lightly for the trip.  
  
He trembled as he sank into her hot, wet heat.  He heard her gasp and felt the sudden tension in her body.  Sweat broke out on his forehead as he struggled not to move.   _Icy calm, icy calm, icy calm,_ he chanted in his head.   _Bloody hell, that’s not working._  With Laura’s inner muscles squeezing down on him and her fingers gripping his own, Remington’s ability to think was rapidly compromised as jolts of pleasure coursed through his lean body.  
  
He murmured, “Hold on, love,” and held her tightly until she accepted all of his length and began lifting her pelvis. Remington rocked back on his forearms and withdrew partially as Laura’s hips bucked in protest.  
  
“No, no, come back,” she coaxed.  Still holding his hands, she wrapped her legs around his hips and took him deeper.  The feel of his intact shaft sliding in to the hilt set up a whole new host of sensations inside Laura.  
  
He fought for time, waiting until he felt her body respond involuntarily to his long slow strokes.  When she did, she clutched at his hands, holding on.  Their passion rose, crested and in the moment before he lost control, Remington demanded, “Laura, look at me.  I love you, Laura.”  
  
Glazed brown eyes opened and caught stormy blue ones, “I love you, Remington.”  
  
"Laura!”  
  
They panted in time with each other.  He released his grip on her hands and she brought them down to stroke his back, reveling in the weight of his long body covering hers.  He leaned into her fingers, causing her to arch and shudder again as the motion drove him against her throbbing bud again.  He held her, stroking her hair and neck, while he whispered in her ear, “Shhh, I’ve got you, let it happen, love.”  Still buried inside her body, Remington could feel every contraction and shiver.  He smiled into her hair and rocked gently against her.  In moments, she moaned softly, and his name caught on her breath again.  
  
Now he eased from her, kissing away her protests and using a single digit to slide down her body, circling her nipple twice before heading south to play in her belly button.  Laura closed her eyes at the sensation, only to pop them open again when she felt his body weight shift to the foot of the bed.  She didn’t want to admit that she was so sensitized to his touch that the merest brush of a finger in the right place would send her into orbit yet again.  
  
“Where are you going?” she managed to get out.  
  
“I didn’t get dessert.”  He blew lightly across her thighs, making her shiver again.  He drew a finger along the outside of her most intimate folds.  When she shifted to give him better access, he smiled at her response.  He stroked on the outer edges until he felt her heat rising, then pressed against that tangled knot of nerves, using tapping, feathering strokes that drove her wild.  He stopped abruptly and blew softly, sending cold air into her core, before he covered her with his mouth.  
  
Laura’s mind recoiled while her body demanded more.  Much more.  “But ... we ... you ... ”  
  
“Afraid?” he murmured, catching her eyes.  She nodded with what wits were about her.  “To taste myself in you is highly erotic to me.  You’re mine, Laura.  And I’ve waited far too long not to savor this.”  With that, Remington slid his hands under her hips, lifting them and taking possession of her with his tongue--sucking, laving, and diving deep--until she screamed his name and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.    
  
This time, he snuggled with her, wrapping the blankets around them.  She buried her nose in his silky chest hair, breathing in his warm, musky scent, and nestled in his arms while he sketched designs in her flesh with his fingertip.  
  
She wasn’t sure what to say.  She had always enjoyed sex, but Remington seemed to have all the right tools at hand even before she knew there were locks on her body to be picked.  And her mind circled time and again on the words he had said:   _I love you, Laura.  
  
_ Actually, he was thinking much the same thing.  The suave connoisseur of the female form had been brought to his knees by the same woman who had managed to intrigue his brain and keep him at bay for four long years.  The results of their joining made any other tryst pale in comparison.  He loved her to distraction and he exulted in the pleasure she found at his hands.  He groaned, already anticipating having her again.  Judging by his current state, it wouldn’t be long.  
  
Laura heard Remington’s low moan and chuckled.  She tipped her head back and slid a leg around his hip.  “Perhaps dessert wasn’t enough?”  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Morning sun shed a warm glow throughout the master’s suite.  Remington woke to find his exhausted bride sprawled face down across the wide expanse of the bed.  The white sheet barely covered her backside, leaving her toned legs on luscious display.  
  
_I always said I was a leg man_. He grinned to himself.  Rolling to her, he skimmed a hand down her spine and played with the sensitive area just at her waist.  
  
“Done toufff muff,” she mumbled into her pillow.  She twitched as his fingers ignited little sparks all over.  
  
“What was that again, Laura, love?”  Remington swirled his middle finger across the bare skin.  
  
“I SAID: don’t touch me.”  She rolled over to face him with a sleepy smile.  “Oh, God, I’m sore.”  
  
“Well, then,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ll just have to be very, very gentle.”  He pushed her back down on her stomach and feathered soft kisses up her back, making her shiver in response.  
  
“Remington!” she yipped.  
  
“Yes, darling?” he whispered again as he tickled the sides of her breasts.  
  
“I’m really, really sore!”  
  
“Hmmm, down here?”  She jolted as he continued, “Ah, I think I see the problem.  I’ll just massage those tense muscles and work the pain right out.”  
  
Truth be told, he was a bit on the tender side himself, but the sight of a very naked Laura in his bed combined with the hours of remembered passion and laughter of the night before served well to step up his morning appetite.  Not to mention it had been quite some time since he was able to indulge in a morning dalliance.  Remington stroked her body into gentle pleasure.  
  
“You’re kidding me, right?”  She squirmed at the sensations he was causing.  “Perhaps I should return the favor.”  She reached across to wrap her hand around his hardening shaft, but at her first touch, his eyes nearly crossed and he scrambled backwards off the bed.  
  
“Ah, no, perhaps not.”  
  
Laura bit her lip, trying not to laugh as she crawled after him and threw her arms around his waist, pulling him back towards her.  He landed in her lap, and they sprawled together on the bed.  She wrapped her arms and legs around him, pressing kisses to his back and playing with the hair on his chest.  “Ha!  I win!” she taunted him.  
  
But Remington cleverly turned in her embrace and rolled so that she was sitting astride his body.  He folded his hands behind his head and arched a brow, daring her.  
  
Utterly unable to resist the challenge, she pressed kisses to his chest and stroked his body with her fingertips.  Neither of them could handle much sensation this morning, but their imaginations took them where their bodies couldn’t.  
  
Laura’s hands feathered over Remington’s body with the lightest of touches and her lips whispered kisses in their wake.  From his toes to his hair, she stroked his skin and warmed it with her breath.  She avoided those sensitive areas in favor of furthering her exploration of his body, and by the light of day, she discovered little things about him that she had missed the night before.  Such as the fact that he shivered when she drew her tongue along that little patch of skin just below his ear.  He twitched whenever she blew across his nipple.  And he had very ticklish feet, but he loved having his toes nibbled.  
  
He reveled in her touch, closing his eyes and floating along as his body awakened.  He jolted when she finished her exploration and blew lightly on his arousal before straddling him and sinking down along his shaft.  They both winced at the first contact, but pain turned into pleasure as she rose up and sank down, taking them both slowly up the precipice.  
  
He pulled his hands from behind his head, but Laura neatly trapped them in hers, pinning them to the bed with her weight.  Laura could feel Remington harden even further as he edged toward his own release.  She let go of his hands and sat up straight, letting him pierce her to the core: once, twice, and the third time she came apart.  
  
He had planned to let her ride, but when she sat up, he opened his eyes and drank in the sight of his wife lost in pleasure as she climaxed and dragged him with her over the edge.  When she settled on his chest, he held her as if she were made of the most fragile glass, feeling if as he had come home from a long journey.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Sometime later, Laura finally staggered out of bed and into a steaming hot shower cleverly tucked into what used to be a tiny sitting room of the old castle.  She left Remington tangled in the sheets and snoring softly.   _Good Lord._ She had always thought he would be an incredible lover, but she never quite imagined he would entirely live up to her fantasies.  
  
After their first intense round of lovemaking, Remington had unleashed all of the bedroom skills he had developed over the years, keeping Laura at his mercy for most of the night.  Each time she thought his thirst for her was slaked, he had changed the pace and the mood again.  She had never laughed as much during sex as she had last night, and he had considered her body fair game for his explorations.  
  
She already wanted him again.   _But that’s just going to have to wait a while.  I need food.  And I may not be able to close my legs for a week.  
  
_ Turning off the water with a cool, enameled bath handle, she had to admire the way the castle renovators blended modern conveniences with the antique structure.  She stepped out to find a thick towel and Remington’s bathrobe draped over the towel warmer.  In his usual discrete fashion, he must have slipped in and turned it on while she showered.  It was an honest fact that he spoiled her ridiculously when she allowed it--and even when she didn’t.  
  
Laura wrapped herself in the blue robe and combed out her wet hair.  She peeked into the bedroom, only to find Remington casually propped up at a small table set with white roses and silver serving pieces.  
  
“Now aren’t you a lovely sight this morning.  Lunch?” he asked as he folded the paper he was reading.    
  
“Mmmm, sounds wonderful.”  She rounded the table to drop a light kiss on his cheek.  “What are we having?”  
  
“You?”  Remington pulled Laura down on his lap, laughing at her startled shriek.  Giggling like a besotted teen-ager, she kissed him, then wiggled off his lap and sat down across from him.  He pretended annoyance.  “Consommé and a light pasta salad, apparently.”  
  
“Sounds perfect.”  She dipped her spoon in the broth.  
  
While the lovers fairly inhaled their food, they chatted lightly about Mickeline and Mildred and the castle itself.  When they were done, Remington rang for a servant to take away the remains of their repast while Laura dressed in casual slacks and a sweater.  She dried her hair as he, quite comfortable with his nudity, stepped into the shower to her admiring glances.  From under the spray, he called out, “What shall we do today, Laura, love?”  
  
She smiled at the endearment.  “You know, Mr. Steele, I really don’t care to see anyone but you today.”  
  
“Then perhaps we shall take a walk about the grounds again, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
“Sounds wonderful.”  She noted that they were back to “Mrs. Steele” again and wondered what it signified.  
  
She tidied the bedroom, marveling at the fact they were quite compatible in this area.  Both of them preferred neat, stylish homes.  They would have to work out exactly where they were to live, but she thought they might end up in Remington’s condominium.  She originally purchased the flat and furnished it when “Remington Steele” was a figment of her imagination.  Remington had certainly put his mark on it, but she still loved the place.  Truth be told, she was always a bit jealous that she never lived in it.    
  
When he appeared in cords and a rugged sweater, with his hair slightly damp and curling at the neck, she thought she might have to revisit the promise she made her body this morning to give it a break until this evening--until she saw the troubled expression on his face.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
He crossed to the table where he had laid the newspaper and gave it to her.  On the front page it was mentioned that Daniel Chalmers would be laid to rest today in London.  A smaller subtext noted that KGB official Sergei Kemadov was to be laid to rest in Moscow at nearly the same time.  “I thought it wouldn’t bother me, but it does, Laura.”  He stared at Daniel’s picture in the paper.  “I miss him.  Which is rather silly if you ask me.  I’ve gone years without seeing him.”  
  
She put her arm around his waist.  “It’s different now.  Perhaps you had more to lose today than you did a week ago.”  
  
  
*****  
  
  
They walked in the garden and Remington fell back into a brooding silence.  This time though, with Laura by his side, he was able to think clearly and work through his sadness.  Her quiet presence comforted and strengthened him.  
  
They were late returning for lunch though, and by the time they ate, she was yawning beside him.  
  
“Hmmm, up late last night?”  
  
“Someone was restless.”  She smiled.  “Come with me and we’ll take a nap together.  Just a nap.  No hanky-panky.”  She waggled her finger at him.  
  
But he shook his head.  While walking, he’d come to several conclusions and needed to set a couple of things in motion.  “Go ahead.  I’ll catch up with you.”  
  
“Will you be okay?”  
  
“I promise.”  He kissed her knuckles.  She pressed her hand to his cheek and then touched her lips to his before climbing the stairs to sleep.  
  
  
  
After having a long, very realistic discussion by telephone with Mildred, Remington closeted himself with Mickeline, the castle’s major domo, to decide what do to with Ashford Castle.  While the idea of owning it was fun, even he could see that it served no purpose in his and Laura’s life.  The taxes for it alone could bury them in just a few short years.  
  
Mickeline had toyed with the idea of making the place a hotel some time ago, but the Earl of Claridge was far more interested in a token ownership of the sprawling estate than in making it a going concern.  Remington, though, had no intention of being an absentee landlord.  He and Mickeline struck a deal that satisfied both of them.  The castle would be given over to the servants; in return, he and Laura had a place to stay in Ireland whenever they wanted and would earn a percentage of the hotel’s profits.  
  
He signed papers to that effect and then sent Mickeline to Los Angeles that very afternoon to work out the rest of the deal with Mildred.  Of course, the major domo managed to spread the word to every single servant at the estate in the meantime.  Remington and Laura were lucky to get a lukewarm dinner that night since all the new owners were scurrying about as they planned their own great party.  
  
Afterward, they watched the news coverage of the two funerals from the little sofa facing the television.  He had his arm stretched out across the back of the loveseat and she was lying with her head in his lap.  Remington couldn't remember Laura ever taking that sort of liberty with him and found it endearing.  
  
_"In London, a military funeral was held today for the man who spearheaded the exposure--and subsequent capture--of British Intelligence double agent Sterling Fitch.  In gratitude for his heroics, Daniel Chalmers was posthumously knighted."  
  
__"In a related ceremony in Moscow, a high ranking KGB official, Sergei Kemadov, was given a hero's burial, for what the Kremlin ambiguously described as 'assorted heroic activities on behalf of the state.' "  
  
_ When the newscast finished the brief story, Remington clicked off the TV with the remote.  Laura had a smile on her face when she turned to look up at him.  “Only Daniel could end up being buried as a national hero in both London and Moscow.”  
  
Nodded, he stared at the blank television.  "It's the ultimate con.  He deserves nothing less."   
  
She placed her hand over his.  "You're a good son."  
  
He let out a soft laugh.  "I only wish I could have spent more time with him."  
  
"On the other hand, you spent twenty years with him."  
  
"Yeah."  He tossed the remote away and put both arms around her, really looking at her this time.  "Well, one thing's for certain.  I'm not going to waste precious time showing people who are close to me how I feel for them."  With resolve, he leaned down and kissed her, stroking her neck with his fingers--only be surprised when she shifted off his lap and away from his embrace.   
  
Yet she surprised him by holding out her hand.  "Care to elaborate, Mr. Steele?"  
  
The invitation was unmistakable.  "Well," he stood up and swept her into his arms, “we have the castle to ourselves, Mrs. Steele."  
  
Surprised, she linked her arms around his neck, then looked around as he carried her toward the stairs.  "Where are the servants?"  
  
"Out celebrating," he told her.  "I decided to give them the castle."  
  
"Hmm.  That was awfully generous of your lordship."  
  
"The act of a desperate lord, I assure you."  
  
"Where's Mildred?"  The suspicion in her voice should have made him laugh, for the woman had interrupted them one too many times, but he was too distracted as he plotted his net move.   
  
"I decided to give her Mickeline."  
  
"There's nothing between us and the bedroom door?" she asked as he paused at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
"Uh uh."  But the phone started to ring.  
  
Laura slipped out of his arms and straightened his collar.  "I'll get the phone.  You turn down the  
covers."  She gave him a light kiss on the lips.  
  
"Hmm hmm."  He pretended to shoot the phone as he continued upstairs, brooding a little over the  
newscast as he ascended the stairs.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Laura answered the antique phone with unusually good-humor.  Having Remington waiting upstairs had a great  deal to do with that.  "Hello?"   
  
"Well," Tony told her, "they finally released me."  
  
"I never doubted it for a moment."  She smiled as she glanced up the stairs, wondering how fast she could dump Tony off the line.   
  
"I still think Steele's plan was a little risky."  
  
"Kemadov cleared you, didn't he?" she asked absent-mindedly.  
  
"Laura, listen, what we talked about earlier still stands,"  Tony's voice was low, as if he were trying to be seductive.  
  
"Laura!"  Remington called out from the bedroom.  _  
  
_ Not wanting to create a problem at the moment, she insisted, "This really isn't the best time to discuss that, Tony."  
  
"Laura, I'm not gonna give up on you."  
  
"Laura!  The bed's turned down!"  
  
Laura was distracted by Remington’s voice.  "I have to go--right now."  
  
"Okay, when can I see you?"  Tony was persistent.  
  
"Fluffing up pillows!"  Remington called down again.  
  
"Coming!"  Laura called back.  "I gotta go.  Bye!" she told Tony.  She dropped the phone on the cradle and ran up the first flight of stairs where Remington met her on the landing.  The phone started to ring again.  They glanced at it, but she put her arms around his neck.  “Let it ring.”  Kissing her, he swung her up into his arms and carried her up the short flight of stairs to their room.  The phone stopped ringing.  
  
The candles had been cleared from the bedroom, but the scent of the beeswax from the night before lingered in the air.  Remington let Laura’s feet touch the ground once more, without letting her out of his embrace.  
  
But when he turned the lights out, the phone began ringing again.  They tried to ignore it for a few moments, but she finally stomped out of the bedroom and down the stairs.  “This better be good,” she snapped to the caller.  
  
“Laura, don’t hang up on me again.”  
  
“Tony, give it up.  I’ve made my choice and it’s not you.”  
  
“But you said--”  
  
“Tony, I’ve said lots of things in the past two months that didn’t make any sense.  If you and that idiot Keyes had left Mr. Steele and me alone in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this ridiculous conversation.”  
  
“Are you telling me you don’t think he married you just to keep the INS off his back?”  
  
“Tony, we would have come around to it sooner or later.  Now would you leave us alone?”  
  
Laura jumped as Remington’s arm came around her waist.  With the other hand he took the receiver from her.  “Antony.”   
  
She was close enough to hear both sides of the conversation.   “Steele.”  
  
“We’re on our honeymoon.  Do you think you could give us a break here?”  
  
“Honeymoon.  Then you and Laura--"  
  
“Aye, mate.  And it was bloody well worth it.  Think again if you’re imagining I’ll back off.”  
  
“But Laura--"  
  
“Laura knows I love her, Antony.  Now do me a favor, old chap, and go away.”  
  
“For now, Steele.  For now.”  
  
Remington quietly put the phone down and disconnected the cord.  
  
Laura was contrite.  “I’m sorry, Remington.  I didn’t want--”  
  
He placed a finger to her lips.  “Shh.  It’s behind us, remember?  We’ve made our explanations, and you warned me about Antony.  I don’t blame him for wanting you.  But he won’t interfere in our lives anymore.  I’ve had about as much of that as I can handle for one lifetime.”  While he was talking, he drew her back to the staircase where they ascended together.  
  
She shut the door behind them and locked it while he pulled a bottle of wine from the hidden wine safe and poured each of them a glass.  She noted the worry and strain that were back in his eyes when he crossed over to hand her one.  She set it on the table beside her, untouched.  Remington sipped his before placing it beside hers.  
  
He took her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her.  She could tell his heart wasn’t in it but was trying to be romantic for her sake.  When he tried to deepen the kiss, Laura cupped one of his hands and pressed a kiss into the palm.  “Tonight, love, I don’t think I could ask.”  
  
He looked confused for a moment, and then his face cleared as he remembered the time he gave those words to her.  
  
“Go get into bed, Mr. Steele.  It’s been a difficult day.”  
  
“Where are you going to sleep?”  
  
“With you.  Oh, and pajamas are optional ... remember?”  That comment elicited a chuckle out of him as he wandered off to the bathroom.  
  
By the time Laura finished dressing for bed, Remington had stretched out under the covers with his blue eyes following her every move.  She wore a pink cotton camisole and matching pajama shorts, aiming for pretty but nothing too obviously seductive.  She felt a little awkward sliding under the sheets with him, wondering where he wanted her.  Wilson always insisted that she sleep on her own side of the bed without touching him.     
  
“Roll over, Laura.”  She did, lying on her side.  Remington pulled her to him so that they nestled like a couple of spoons.  She sighed in contentment as she snuggled in next to him.  She realized all he had on was a pair of silk boxer shorts.  His hairy chest tickled where her camisole rode up at her waist, but he radiated heat, luring her into sleep in minutes.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
He heard that sweet sigh and placed a kiss on the back of her neck, grateful for her understanding.  He didn’t doubt that he could summon up the energy to make love to her, but it didn’t feel right tonight with Daniel being laid to rest.  With his free hand, he stroked Laura’s hair.  He smiled as the silky locks clung to his fingers, and he realized he would just have to learn to live with the long strands sticking to his face while they slept.    
  
He rested his arm on her bare waist and laced his fingers with hers.  Tomorrow would be different.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poetic License disclaimer:
> 
> For the purposes of this story, I am placing the incident with the tuna boat in the very early part of the year. Yes, I know it can be firmly argued that it happened in May, but I felt that Laura and Remington were dressed far too warmly for Ireland in high summer by the time they got there. Just go with it. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the ride. 
> 
> Many, many thanks to Wilma for beta-reading this entire book. Without her, I would not have had to courage to finish and post this story. Any errors are mine, not hers. Special thanks to Nancy for the episode transcript. I do not take credit for the dialogue from the episode or the characters, just everything else.


	3. New Beginnings

_Summer 1978  
  
"O’Leary, my boy, you did a superb job as usual.  The insurance claim paid out beautifully.  I’d like me stones back now."  
  
Mick leaned from his chair and dropped the pretty baubles on the desk in front of him.  He waited patiently.  Rory Malone would have the stones reset and sold within the week, rendering them impossible to trace.  
  
Malone handed Mick an envelope full of cash.  He opened the flap and slid a quick thumb across the stack.  Short.  He closed the flap and slid the packet into his jacket before rising to shake the other man’s hand across the desk.  This was the third time Mick had been stiffed on the deal and the last time he would take a job for Malone.  
  
It was nearly two years before Malone discovered the stones in the little packet on his window frame were no longer a trio of matched red diamonds but pretty little rubies.  Elegant and well-cut, but only rubies, nonetheless.  The buyer was not happy, and Malone had no proof, only suspicions.  
  
  
  
_The next morning, Laura was a little disoriented.  Someone’s toes stroked the inside of her calves.  A very warm something nudged her bottom rather insistently and nimble fingers were slipping the last button of her camisole free.  She smiled, stretching like a waking cat, as Remington trailed his fingers over her skin.  He began laying kisses and little nips along her now-bare shoulder while his fingers entertained themselves by stroking her breasts and plucking at the peaks.  
  
Remington felt like a kid with a box of popcorn and a new movie on the screen.  He didn’t know where to look first, and he wanted to eat by the handfuls.  The freckles would have to do for now.  After his prolonged abstinence, followed by a veritable orgy lasting through the night and into the morning, his body was none too happy to have been deprived the prior evening--especially since there was a near-naked woman in the bed only inches away.  
  
He had a stray thought that Daniel would find it funny to discover him having a tryst the morning after the burial.  He’d better, because his son wasn’t stopping for niceties now.  
  
Laura twitched now in time with his plucking.  He slid a knee between her legs, and they parted instantly.  Her hand drifted behind her to stroke his thigh, his bum and--his eyes nearly crossed at the sensation.  He pulled her hand away, knowing he wouldn’t last long if he didn’t.  
  
He realized that she was trembling at the edge already.  Her skin was flushed, making the freckles stand out, and she clutched the sheets with both hands.  Smiling to himself, he let his hand drift from her breast, across her flat belly and farther south where he circled once on that knot of nerves, causing her to inhale sharply and gently shake with pleasure.  He continued to circle her nub, easing up only for a moment when she tensed and tried to pull his hand away.  But he merely changed techniques and continued the onslaught of sensation.     
  
  
*****  
  
Laura had discovered something their first night together.  Sure, she thought she knew what an orgasm was all about, but in her experience she hadn’t quite understood that the little ones were just pleasant stops on the way to the big one.  It appeared that Remington not only knew the difference but had plotted out any number of ways to make the journey.     
  
She sucked in her breath as he eased her to the edge again.  She squirmed and tried to inch away from his hand but only managed to cradle him between her buttocks.  Trapped between a rock hard shaft and his nimble fingers, she gave up and cried out as she came apart again.  
  
  
*****  
  
Remington grinned.  It was too easy.  He loved the fact that Laura was putty in his hands.  He wedged his leg under hers and eased himself into her spasming cleft, making her gasp out his name as he filled her.  He set up a rhythm that would take him through the rest of her orgasm, but the joke was on him as she bore down with her inner muscles, causing him to lose his concentration.  Abruptly, his need for her took over, and he thrust hard.  It was nearly pure instinct that had him brush his fingers over her knot one last time so that whole body convulsed in response.  Unable to resist, Remington came apart with her, powerless to do anymore than say her name.  
  
  
  
That day and the next saw the lovers enjoying their first real holiday together.  They could be found in bed, eating, talking, watching the old movies of which he was so fond, taking long walks about the countryside, and generally avoiding anyone except for those brief contacts which helped to make their stay delightful.  The servants of the castle were charmed into indulging their former master’s whims, even abandoning the kitchen one evening so the young lord could prepare a delectable dinner for his wife.  
  
As Remington and Laura lingered over the sweet cream trifle, the butler appeared with a box.  “My lord and lady, you’ve received a package from America.  From the Remington Steele Agency, it seems.”  
  
“From Mildred?  What could it be?” wondered Laura as she rose from the table and crossed to the box the butler had left on the side table.  
  
Remington grimaced.  “Can it not wait, darling?”  His voice was petulant.  “The trifle will melt.”  
  
She opened the envelope taped to the box.  "Mildred writes that a London solicitor sent this box to the office and it’s addressed to you.  She thought you might want to look inside in case there is any business that needs handling before we return next week."  She held out the note to Remington and waited for him to round the table and take it from her.  
  
He glanced at it before shifting his gaze back to her.  “Indeed.  You won’t be satisfied until we open the box, and I would rather have my way with you without your looking over your shoulder, so, mmm, have at it.  Open it.”  
  
Laura used a table knife to slit the box open, not seeing Remington’s wince.  “Two-hundred-year-old silver and she uses it on cardboard.  Daniel would be mortified.”  
  
“Well, speak of the devil.”  She glanced up at him.  “A letter from Daniel’s solicitor.  Here, you read it.”  Laura reseated herself to finish her melting cream while Remington read quietly.  After a moment, he handed the note back to her, jammed his hands into his pockets and paced while he waited for her reaction.  
  
She glanced at him and dropped her eyes back to the letter.  "It says Daniel executed a will two years ago naming you his son and heir.  Apparently Daniel stashed quite a bit away over the years and leaves it all to you, including the villa in the South of France.  I imagine you’ll like that."  
  
“Yes, well, Daniel was always big on squirreling his nuts away for a rainy day.  Harped on it a time or two.”  
  
“Hmmm, maybe you should have listened,” she retorted, not taking her eyes off the letter.  
  
Offended, Remington started to reply but closed his mouth firmly and settled for glaring at the back of her head.  “Yes, well, perhaps.”  
  
She kept reading.  “He says that Daniel gave the box to him with the will and told him to ship it to you should anything happen to him.”  
  
“That was nice of him.  Drop it off after he’s left, and he doesn’t have to answer any questions.  Typical con job.  Bloody hell.”  He paced angrily.  
  
Laura rose.  “Let’s take this upstairs and we can sort through it.  You might find some answers.”  
  
Remington snorted but carried the box upstairs to their suite where he dumped it on the table in front of the fire.  He was more than annoyed that his evening of dinner, trifle and seduction was interrupted by a damned box that he knew Laura could no more ignore than she could forget to brush her teeth in the morning.  Heading for the wardrobe, he stripped off his dinner clothes, changing into jeans and the hand-knitted ivory sweater that she had found for him the day before as they wandered through the local market.  
  
He retrieved a bottle of cabernet from the wine safe discreetly tucked into a small bar and poured them each a glass.  He handed one to Laura, then flopped on the sofa and flicked on the television, searching for something interesting before settling on The Thomas Crown Affair (Steve McQueen, Faye Dunaway, United Artists, 1968).  
  
Laura was busy digging through the box and setting aside papers in various piles.  Mostly, Remington tried to ignore her, but his curiosity spiked each time she paused a moment.  
  
“What was Bainbridge?” she wondered.  
  
He smiled in remembrance.  “A lovely horse that had a nasty habit of winning when he was slated in last place.”  
  
“Well, Bainbridge has a very nice account in Nice.”  She shifted, changing the subject abruptly as  she dropped her hand deep into the box where it would be out of sight.  “Do you know what I would like to do before we leave?”  
  
Remington eyed her and quirked a brow.  
  
“I’d like to get married again, here.  Just for us and for real.  Not because of INS or any other silly reason on the planet.  Just for the two of us.  I want at least one place that will not question our right to be together.”  
  
He picked his jaw up off the floor.  “You ... want to be married?  To me?  For real?  As in ‘til death do us part?’ ”  
  
“I do.  I’ve spent too long trying to keep my heart from you.  It’s yours.  And it’s been yours.”  
  
After a moment of shocked silence, he reached over to stroke a lock of her hair.  “Laura, as much  as I would like that, I can’t do it.”  He stared out the window into the deep twilight sky.  
  
“Why?”  She held her breath, hoping she knew the answer.  
  
“I was born in this country, but I don’t belong here.  I’ve used many names and had dozens of IDs, but none of them was real.  To get a marriage license and to be married to you legally in all respects, here in Ireland, I’ll need something I’ve never had before, Laura, love.  I need a birth certificate.”  He reached over to take her hand, thinking to kiss it and comfort her.  
  
Instead, she handed him a document with a folded letter clipped to it.  “Like this one?”  
  
Remington faltered for a moment and then took the papers from her.  He stared at them for a long time before raking fingers through his coal black hair.  
  
“Baby Boy McAfee?  That’s all I get?  At least Daniel’s name is on the bloody certificate.  But not   
mine.”  Smoldering with anger, he yanked the letter out of the paperclip and shook it open.  He dropped the birth record on the table near Laura.  
  


_Harry,_ _  
_ _  
_ _Call me a coward, and you will, but I’ve answers for you you’ll have been wanting.  I’ve meant to_ _tell you for some time about your parents.  For these many years, I’ve known you were looking_ _for family.  I’ve had the answers and found more, but I’ve not had the courage to pass them to_ _you while I was alive.  Your anger at your situation was well-justified, and I feared losing what_ _relationship we had.  But that time is passed, and there are things you should know._ _  
_ _  
_ _When I was younger, I fell for a pretty, black-haired Irish barmaid at Gallagher’s Pub in Dublin._ _Her name was Mary Claire McAfee.  Her blue eyes twinkled at me and I fell like a rock for her_ _charms.  For many months, we courted and loved, and she enchanted me.  With her charming_ _smile she was a fine barmaid and cheery about the world, never worrying about the morrow._ _  
_ _  
_ _In that and in your looks, you are much like her.  I can tell you she was an only child, and her_ _parents had died but a year or two before I met her.  She lived with a girlfriend in a little flat on_ _the outskirts of the city.  We laughed much and loved frequently, and if any lady were to hold my_ _fancy, it was she.  But I was a con man at heart and thought to run a big one.  I was caught and_ _spent a number of years in the clink.  I never heard from her again._ _  
_ _  
_ _A pair of months before I left the lockup, I ran into an old fellow I had known in Mary’s days, and_ _he made light of the fact that Miss McAfee expected a wee one about the time I was detained._ _Once I was out, it took me quite a bit of time to trace down her old roommate and discover that_ _Mary had become ill in the final days of her confinement.  She bore you and passed from this_ _world in the same day.  I don’t know where she is buried despite my best efforts to locate her._ _The roommate told me that you were given to an orphanage._ _  
_ _  
_ _It took me another pair of years to discover the orphanage that took you in.  I took your file from_ _where the records were stored and discovered that you had been an ill child, perhaps stemming_ _from Mary, perhaps not.  In the early days, it was not known if you would survive.  But you’ve_ _always been a scrapper at heart._ _  
_ _  
_ _The orphanage found that Mary Claire had a great aunt, and she was quite willing to keep you._ _But before you were four, she too, became ill and passed on.  From there you were passed from_ _cousin to cousin.  Unfortunately, you may remember, some were less than charitable, and after_ _any number of incidents as you grew older, the orphanage took you back to find a new family for_ _you.  As time goes, you’ll know the story better than I.  The orphanage had its own troubles and_ _closed down shortly after the Darveys took you in.  I tracked you to them but discovered you had_ _run away the previous summer and you were lost to me.  Given the kind of people they were, I_ _can only imagine the injustices you bore then and before.  Your file is in the box to do with what_ _you will._ _  
_ _  
_ _I spent quite some time in Dublin looking for you on the streets, but never in my wildest dreams_ _did I imagine that you would find me in London by picking my own pocket.  When I looked into_ _your eyes, I saw Mary and knew that I had found you at last.  Thank God you took to me.  The_ _years we’ve had together have been the finest of my life, and I haven’t regretted a moment.  I’m_ _quite proud of you.  Enjoy the legacy I’m leaving you.  You’ve earned it._ _  
_ _  
_ _One last thing: I did not have the honor of giving you a name.  If I had, you would have been_ _named for my father and for me, Daniel Harrison Chalmers.  “Harry” was not by accident, and_ _you never seemed to mind the appellation.  But I understand that someone you love has given you_ _a name that you’ve chosen to wear.  As long as you hold it, honor it and the one who gave it to_ _you._ _  
_ _  
_ _Daniel_ _  
_

_  
  
*****  
  
  
_ Remington stared morosely at the letter while Laura watched him in quiet concern.  She saw a myriad of emotions flicker across his face as he took in Daniel’s final words.  At last, he passed the letter to her and took up his glass of wine, not to drink, but as a prop to hold while he reflected in sorrow.  
  
She read the letter, fitting Daniel’s words into the little she knew of Remington’s past.  Her heart ached for the lonely little boy and again for the man who found answers he wasn’t sure he wanted. She dropped the letter on top of the birth certificate and rounded the table to sit with Remington.    
  
For more than an hour, there were no words.  Eventually, he drained his glass and tipped the wine bottle to refill it.  Twice.  Three times.  When he reached to pour another, Laura corked the bottle and stuck it back in the wine safe.  She kissed his forehead and left him staring into the fire while she dressed for bed.  Upon her return, she discovered a bottle of scotch on the table.  A shot glass was damp and the bottle was clearly broached.    
  
“Well, that’s a good idea.  At least in the morning, you’ll have something else to think about.”  She   
brought a blanket from the wardrobe and curled up next to him.  She slept as he continued to drink.  
  
The sound of something abruptly shattering woke her; she bolted straight up, looking about to locate the source of the noise.  Remington stalked about the room, having thrown his shot glass into the dying flames of the fire.  He was muttering to himself.  
  
“Who in t’ bloody ‘ell does he t’ink ‘e is, writin’ a letter like t’at? Am I supposed t’ jes take it? ‘A’s all right, mate--just wee tiff ‘atween us an’ ‘tis right as rain.”  The Irish accent of his youth mixed in with the street language of London blossomed in his ire, “Weel bugger me arse and the liedy next door.  Fuckin’ bloody bastard.  No tha’s no’ Daniel, tha’s me.”  
  
Astonished at the cant language, Laura realized just how much he had put aside in his transformation to an elegant English gentleman.  
  
Still pacing, he muttered on, “A ’bit o’ the tiddle and leave t’ liedy high an’ dry an’ bear t’ wee lad no’ne weel claim.”  Remington snatched up the bottle and drank a healthy gulp.  
  
She eyed it, trying to judge what was left and how long she had been sleeping.  “That’s enough, love.  Any more and you’ll be poisoned.”  Gently, she pried the bottle out of his clutches and set it aside, then pushed him down on the sofa and took his lovely face in her hands.  Damp velvet blue eyes startled her, but she kissed him lightly.  “I want you.  I want you and I’ve already given you a name.  Will you keep it?  Will you keep it and me?”  
  
“Aye, me love.  I weel.”  Remington ran a free hand through her hair, then closed his eyes and slept.  Laura watched over him while the fire burned low.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Remington rolled over in bed only to discover it was a short hard distance to the floor.  Cursing at it and the blanket he was tangled in, he kicked until he finally came free.  He squinted to find the source of the snickering coming from somewhere up on the sofa, but slammed his eyes shut when the tiniest ray of morning sun smacked him upside the head and set it to throbbing.  Scrunching his eyes closed, he sat up to discover that the room spun in a slow counter-clockwise motion, sluggishly enough that he wasn’t sure which way to tilt.    
  
His head split wide open when Laura handed him a glass of water and aspirin, murmuring, “Drink up, love.”  Each word stabbed into his brain as if she had shouted from a mountain top.  He drank, forcing the water down his cottony, parched throat and gulped the aspirin.  
  
“Just two?” he croaked.  She tipped two more into his hand, and he carefully washed them down.  His demented wife refilled his water glass and insisted he drink.  Again.  And again.   _Who is this bloody shrew that I’ve wed?_  Twenty minutes later he had to pee and staggered to his feet, listing decidedly to starboard.  Once in the bathroom, a shower seemed a good idea.  He lurched into the warm spray and stayed there a while.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Laura, in the meantime, chuckled as she cleaned up the remnants of the evening.  In their years of partnership, she had only seen Remington drunk once and it paled in comparison to the depths he reached last night.  Since he couldn’t say the same of her, it was nice the scales were more evenly balanced, though she wished the occasion hadn’t been so heartbreaking for him.  
  
She sobered when she spied the offending sheets of paper on the table.  Gathering them up, she pinned them back together, placing them in the box along with the file Daniel had mentioned.   While Remington slept, she had poured over the documents in the box, hunting for clues to his past.  Unfortunately, the file stood as a sad testament to a broken system that allowed a bright young boy to be abandoned by the people who were to save him. Not sure if Remington really needed to see it, she buried it in the box underneath the legal records of Daniel’s holdings.     
  
Suddenly a thought popped into her head.  Digging back through the box, she retrieved the file, letter and certificate before picking up the telephone to make a call.      
  
  
*****  
  
  
Turning the shower off, Remington discovered that his head had begun to shrink to more normal proportions.  His hair quit hurting, and the morning light ceased to be a curse to all mankind.  After he dressed, it was his turn to be pleasantly greeted with a light breakfast set upon the same table where all manner of ill things had come about the night before.     
  
It occurred to him that the events of last night served to deprive him of his lovely Laura’s lithe form, and the planned seduction of the evening had gone awry.  “Good morning, Laura.”  
  
She smiled sweetly.  “Feeling better, Mr. Steele?”  
  
Remington did not like the slightly smug look she wore.  “Indeed.  My apologies, Miss Holt.”  He reverted to his most formal manner with her, feeling quite embarrassed.  He sat on one of the chairs near the table, avoiding the sofa of the damned.  Looking around, he noticed something missing.  “Where’s the box?”  
  
“I put it away for now.”  She stroked his cheek.  “We’ll talk of it later.  For now, let’s eat.”  She kissed him on the forehead and sat in the chair beside him.  Her stifled smile of sober women everywhere on bright mornings, irritated him--though she did her best to keep the conversation soft and friendly.    
  
He suspected she was needling him with her cheerful questions and comments, smirking when he only grunted quiet responses that wouldn't set his head to throbbing again.    
  
"All right, Lord Surly."  She frowned at him.  "I'm going to shower and change."    
  
By the time she rejoined him, his disposition had improved significantly.  
  
“You look lovely today.”  Remington smiled appreciatively at the soft heather sweater and navy slacks Laura wore.  
  
“You’re looking better.”  
  
“Hmm, I’m thinking I feel that way too.”  He crossed the room to her and wrapped his arms around her.  “Thank you for last night, love.”  He captured her mouth and plundered for a moment before burying his face in her hair.    
  
Leaning back in his arms, Laura asked, “Want to make it up to me?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  Remington’s hands shifted under her sweater.  
  
With practiced grace, Laura ducked out of his hold and gathered her purse.  “Great.  Let’s go.”   She waited at the door while Remington reluctantly selected a sport coat and shrugged it on.  
  
“Where are we going?  
  
“You’ll see.  Bring your passport.”  
  
“My passport?  Are we going somewhere?  Should I pack?  Wait, Laura!”  He hurried to catch  her.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Despite his not-so-suble interrogation, Laura refused to enlighten Remington as to their destination.  Instead, she commented on the lovely Irish countryside and peppered him with dozens of questions about local  customs and history.  Before long, he feigned sleep hoping she would shut up, but the joke was on him as he fell into a light doze in the passenger seat of the rented Audi.  Forty-five minutes later, she parked the car in front of a nondescript building in Castlebar with a little sign out front, Civil Registration Office.    
  
“Remington,” she shook him awake.  “We’re here.”  Sleepy blue eyes opened.  Laura had the idle   
thought that he looked like a fallen angel just waking in the new world.  
  
“Hmm?  Ah, yes, so we are.  Where are we?”  He straightened and unhooked his seat belt.  
  
“About to have a very interesting conversation.”  She leaned over to pull the file folder out from under her seat.  
  
Remington spied the little sign in the window.  “Ah, no, Laura.  Is this necessary?  No need to get the authorities involved here.”  
  
“Yes.  I think it is.”  She slid out of the car and shut the door.  
  
“Darling, why don’t we have tea across the way, or better yet, we’ll lift a pint in the pub there,” he   
cajoled her.  
  
“What are you afraid of?”  Laura scoffed.  
  
Remington cleared his throat.  “Oh, well, you know.”  He shrugged a shoulder.  “A dozen identities, bit of trouble with the authorities, ah, no need to tip them off, eh?”  
  
“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Laura assured him.  
  
“Ahem, well, it was nice knowing you,” he retorted, scratching his nose and then shutting his door as well.  
  
“Come on, we have an appointment with a Margaret Walsh in ten minutes.”  She linked her arm through his and they walked inside.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Battle-hardened County Registrar Margaret Walsh eyed the couple with suspicion.  In the twenty years of her work, she had seen the bribes, the threats, the begging and the charming.  But the brief phone call Miss Holt had made earlier that day intrigued her, not that she would let that fact show in her expression.  In her mundane line of work, it was rare to see the unusual case.  Mostly, she saw those trying to get around the very law she was to enforce.  As the couple sat at the conference table across from her, she patted her shiny, curled hair and straightened the lapel of her no-nonsense suit jacket before settling down to work.  She returned Mr. Steele’s charming grin with a glare of her own.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Laura considered herself a fairly decent interrogator.  As a detective, the ability to ask the right questions often made the difference between solving a case and going home empty-handed.  She also considered Remington an expert at avoiding even the most direct question.  Case in point was the ridiculously small amount of his past that she really understood.  
  
Ms. Walsh made her look like an amateur and him a songbird.  
  
Under her scrutiny, Remington slowly spilled out the story of his childhood years, some of which Laura knew, but there was much more that enlightened and saddened her.  He spoke of living with this family and that, each one changing his name as it suited them.  He talked of neglect and abuse, culminating in running away and hiding out on a cargo ship headed for London.  The three years he survived on the streets of the old city horrified Laura.  Thank God Daniel found him.  He heavily edited the years between fourteen and thirty but revealed some of Daniel’s lighter exploits and presented himself as a willing accomplice.  Finally, with much trepidation, he laid out the past four years with Laura and how he had become Remington Steele.  
  
Laura could see that Ms. Walsh was well aware there was much he wasn’t telling her, but she only noted it with the occasional snort.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Ms. Walsh watched the man’s body language throughout the interview.  He walked in holding Miss   
Holt’s arm, told his story with his hands clasped in front of him and then confessed the part about Laura while holding her hand.  It was obvious he was in love with her and, more than that, she was a lifeline to him.  It was clear that the love was not one-sided.  The registrar had noted Miss Holt was taking in every aspect of the interview, but remaining absolutely focused on every word and nuance of his story.  Subtle changes in her eyes reflected his distress and triumphs throughout the retelling.  Love shone in her face to anyone paying attention.  
  
When the man finished speaking, the pair was quiet and discrete as they held hands under the table.  Ms. Walsh took her time examining the orphanage file, Daniel’s letter and the passport.   The latter was the hardest to explain.  
  
Laura haltingly confessed to finding a creative way of obtaining a passport for Remington in order to rescue him from London and bring him home.  Silently, the couple reflected on the trip that became the turning point that opened the door to their current relationship.  He had thought he needed proof of his past and his name to demonstrate his love to her.  She, in turn, flew six thousand miles to bring him home despite his having neither one.  
  
Ms. Walsh looked the identification over carefully and decided it was not in her authority to determine if it had been issued by legal means.  It appeared in all manners to be perfectly valid and that suited her--although she did advise them to see that the birth date be corrected.  As it was apparent that the man before her had been using the name Remington Steele for quite some time, she found it within her authority to accept the passport as proof of identity and to issue a modified birth certificate.  
  
“How do you want your name listed?”  Ms. Walsh asked.  The couple held a short, whispered conversation.  Laura made a suggestion.  Remington decided he could live nicely with it and told  the registrar.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Laura smiled triumphantly as they exited the building.  A dazed Remington raked his hand through his hair repeatedly.  Each time he started to speak, words failed him and he lapsed into silence.  
  
In the end, it seemed quite simple.  Ms. Walsh examined the file.  She studied the birth certificate.  The woman scrutinized the letter from Daniel and Remington’s passport.  In the end, with a “Hmmph” and much muttering under her breath about others' shirking their sworn duties, she issued a new, modified birth certificate with the name Remington Daniel Harrison Steele.  As a crowning touch, she allowed the couple to post a marriage notification, and they left the office with a Marriage Registration Form.  
  
“Five days, Laura.  In five days, we’ll be legally married in the country of my birth.”  Remington leaned against the car and took her hands.  “I have a name.  I have a name they can’t take away from me.  My God, Laura,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “in a thousand years, I can never repay you or thank you enough.”  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Five days later, Registrar Margaret Walsh married Laura Holt and Remington Steele in a quiet civil ceremony witnessed by two dry-eyed clerks.  Wearing a simple ivory dress embellished with Irish lace at the hem and wrist, Laura gazed into Remington’s handsome face.  He, too, had turned himself out for the occasion, dressing in a superfine waistcoat of black with an ivory cravat.  He spent quite some time attempting to perfect it before the castle valet brushed him aside and finished the elaborate tie.  
  
Ms. Walsh admonished them to respect one another, love one another and try to remember that the strong natures that each of them exhibited would be either the delight or the downfall of their marriage.  She hoped it would be the delight.  
  
After Laura promised to be loving, loyal, and faithful, Remington did the same.  He brought her hands to his lips and brushed a kiss along the knuckles, adding these words in a soft Irish lilt:  
  


_By the power that Christ brought from heaven, mayst thou love me._ _  
_ _As the sun follows its course, mayst thou follow me._ _  
_ _As light to the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart,_ _  
_ _May thy presence be with me, Oh, one that I love, 'til death comes to part us asunder."_ _  
_

_  
_He finished by whispering, “I love you, Laura.”  
  
Laura’s face radiated joy and she whispered back, “I love you, Remington Daniel Harrison Steele.  And I’ll be proud to wear your name forever.”  
  
Ms. Walsh grew just a bit teary-eyed at that last exchange but blinked several times and asked the couple to exchange rings.  
  
Remington pulled a ring box out of his jacket pocket and removed a platinum wedding band of alternating red and white stones set in a single channel.  This he slipped onto Laura’s finger as the registrar reminded them of the ring’s eternal circle representing continued fidelity and love.  He handed a second box to her where she fished out a man’s gold and platinum band with a trio of the same red and white stones.  She slid the ring onto Remington’s third finger with a question in her eyes, but he ignored it as the registrar pronounced them husband and wife.  He deliciously kissed his bride.  She returned that kiss with much enthusiasm.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
And in the most silent pocket of Remington’s mind, a tiny seed was planted that, perhaps someday, he could have the family he wanted.

 

 

 


	4. Old Business

In an unusual turn of events, Remington D. H. Steele insisted that his new bride take the wheel of the car.  She found out why fifteen minutes later. During the drive home, the groom found it absolutely delightful to annoy that same bride by nibbling on her fingertips and tracing his tongue across the lines in her hand.  She was so distracted she nearly forgot which side of the road she was to drive on.  When he took her middle finger and warmed it in his mouth, she barely avoided a flock of sheep lounging in the road.  Only by the dint of much honking at the last minute did the ewes scramble out of the way.  
  
By the time they neared the castle, Laura was breathing hard, and Remington had loosened his own collar, making a complete mess of the knot the valet had tied.  
  
When they arrived though, they found the servants assembled in the courtyard, and that they had draped white bunting across the great doors.  The happy crowd sprinkled flower petals over the couple’s heads as they dashed inside the castle.  To many good wishes, winks, nudges and sage advice for the bedroom, they hastened up the stairs and slammed the door.  
  
“I imagine we’ve provided an excuse for a great _ceili_ for the staff, as it’s not every day the lord and lady get hitched.”  Remington grinned.  “They’ll be down below tapping kegs and toasting our good health until the wee hours of the morning.  
  
Laura drew a hand down his lean stomach.  “I have an idea.”  
  
“Oh, and what’s that?”  Remington brushed a hand through her hair and cupped the back of her  neck.  
  
“That we do a bit of celebrating on our own.”  Her body was vibrating after the past three-quarters of an hour of steady stroking, hints and insinuations.  
  
“My sentiments exactly.”  His lips met hers in a scorching, open-mouthed kiss, their tongues seeking and heating and finding.  His fingers drifted down her shoulders, leaving sparks in their trail.  
  
Impatient, Laura jerked his tie, the waistcoat and his shirt off in short order, scattering cuff links here and there.  Her dress puddled on the floor, the zippers and buttons released by Remington’s clever fingers.  She heard the quick intake of his breath and smiled.  
  
“See something you like?”  Clad in an ivory bodice that skimmed her slim body in a deep vee in front and left her back bare, with only an excuse of a triangle for panties, Laura lavished kisses on his neck and chest as Remington struggled to be suave and coherent.  But what made him pause in appreciation were the ivory stockings stopping at mid-thigh.  The idea of rolling those stockings down a long, sexy limb almost stopped his heart.  When that same leg was clad in the aforementioned outfit, a slim stiletto heel and attached to Laura, well, that was quite enough to put a halt to any plans he might have had for a long, slow seduction on his wedding night.      
  
So distracted from the sight, he failed to notice when Laura slipped off his belt, loosening his slacks so she could slide her small, delicate hand inside.  She teased and fondled lightly, then drew him up in a solid, firm stroke that made his knees weak.  He sagged against the door when his pants and briefs dropped, and she began nipping along his thighs.  When her hot mouth closed over him, he clutched the door frame with one hand, her hair with the other.  
  
Watching Remington fascinated Laura.  To have him at her mercy filled her with incredible pleasure.  To see him gasping for breath made her ache to be filled, to have his hands on her.  But she was very patient and enjoying the task at hand, sucking and licking as if he were dipped in the most luscious of chocolate.        
  
Moments, or maybe hours later, he'd had enough, dragging her upwards to bring her very talented mouth to his.  He spun around, kicking the last of his shoes and socks away and forcing Laura against the same door that proved such a handy support during her ministrations.  Somewhere in the exchange, her panties vanished, and Remington wrapped her stocking-covered legs around his hips, thrusting deep inside in one smooth motion.  Laura started with a gasp and ended with a shriek.  
  
With her back to the door and Remington’s hard body plunging into hers, Laura was caught in a raging inferno, every part of her hungering for more.  He pushed her harder and higher.  When she arched her body and screamed his name, he convulsed, flooding her with his liquid heat and sending her soaring.  He buried his face in her neck as they shuddered in each other’s embrace.  
  
Without releasing her, Remington staggered back from the door and carried a still-shaking Laura to the nearest horizontal surface that wasn’t the floor--which happened to be the couch in front of the fire.  He mentally blessed the thoughtful servant who had stoked it to a warm blaze before their homecoming and left a pile of pillows and blankets nearby.  He collapsed backward onto the sofa, keeping his wife close.  
  
They dozed in the heat for a while before he began toying with the strap of her teddy.  She roused to play with the tips of his hair and to press light kisses along his collarbone.  She felt his feather light touches along her waist, gathering the sheer lingerie so that he could slide it up and over her head.  When her arms came down around him, he pressed her body up and over him to taste those amazing small breasts.  Laura quivered at his touch.  
  
She shifted, straddling him more firmly, and when she sat up, she discovered him hardening once more.  She took advantage by rocking softly as he continued to titillate her body.  
  
“Mmm, Laura, you have no idea how completely you are fulfilling my fantasies of you.  Naked, but for a sheer bit of hosiery.”  He stroked her leg along the top edge of the lace, sending shivers into her.  He skimmed his fingers along the insides of her thighs before dipping into her wet folds, stroking and circling her nub.  
  
Once, twice, three times, he took her to the very edge before retreating to stroke those stocking-covered legs.  Each time, he grew harder underneath her.  When he started to trail his fingers across again, Laura abruptly shifted to take him inside.  In moments, they were panting and moving together, with Laura taking Remington up to the pinnacle with her.  As they balanced on the precipice, she captured his lips for a hot, breathy kiss that rocked him to the core.  They fell together, calling each other’s names.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
With their initial lust satiated, the couple found a picnic basket full of finger foods warming on the side of the hearth, another gift from the servants enjoying their ale below.  With a bottle of French champagne, a selection of cheese and a bowl of fruit that Remington extracted from a niche in the wine safe, the bride and groom shared a meal in the firelight.  They nestled in the blankets as they nibbled through their largesse and drank toasts to their present and their future.  
  
As she held up her goblet, the flickering light caught on the wedding ring Laura wore.  Sliding it off, she examined it in detail.  Tilting it this way and that, she noticed the engraving inside.  Astonished, she looked up at Remington.  “Fan dance?”  
  
“It’s as you said, my dear, if you had performed a fan dance for me, you wouldn’t have seen daylight for a week.  I love all those things about you--your brain, your courage, your passion, your impulsiveness.”  He snorted, “Although I don’t miss your restraint one bit at all.”  
  
Laura punched him lightly on the shoulder.  
  
“Those words are to remind you of who you are and that I love you for all of that.”  
  
She dropped her eyes and smiled at that last.  “I should have ‘Remington Steele’ engraved inside yours, so you won’t forget who you are.”  
  
Silently, he tugged off the ring and handed it to her.  Inside, in the same script, was inscribed _Remington D. H. Steele_.  Her eyes watered for a moment as she took it in.  Then, still holding her own ring, Laura replaced his on his third finger, just as she had earlier that day.  
  
“So tell me; I’m quite certain there’s more to this ring than just words.  Why diamonds and rubies?” she asked as she turned the band over.  The channel held five small stones, three white and two red.  
  
“Ah, no, they aren’t rubies.  These rings, ah, I've had lying around.  Mildred couriered them to me.”  
  
“Just how did you happen to have them lying around?  And if they aren’t rubies, what are they?  
  
“A private investigator to the core, aren’t you, Laura?”  He planted a kiss on her cheek.  
  
“Just answer the questions, Mr. Steele,” she teased in return.  
  
“Well, Mrs. Steele, the stones are pure red diamonds and white diamonds of the first water.  Just a little bonus for a job I did, you see.  I’ve been saving them for something, mmm, special.”  
  
“Red diamonds?  I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she mused, still turning the ring in her fingers.  
  
“That, my darling, is because there aren’t very many of them.  Like pink diamonds and canary diamonds, a true red diamond is in a class all its own.  A matched set such as these?  Well, let’s just say, I didn’t come across them too often even in my line of business.”  Remington plucked the ring from Laura’s hand and slid it back on her finger.  
  
She admired it for a moment.  “I imagine I don’t want to know how much these are worth.”  
  
“No, I don’t think so.  Just don’t lose it.  Our insurance company will have a heart attack or go bankrupt.”  
  
“Care to explain about the setting?  I don’t imagine you let just anyone play around with these little rocks.”  She picked up her glass of champagne and sipped, letting the bubbles play in her mouth.  
  
“There’s a friend I have in the States with a fine hand for such a thing.  I didn’t have a chance to retrieve them before we came here, but given the circumstances, I thought they were quite appropriate for today.”  
  
“Retrieve them?  How long have you had them?”  
  
“A while.  I won’t admit to more than that.  It might give you the upper hand.”  
  
She bit her lip while she flashed him a smile.  She’d get it out of him one of these days.  “I think they’re perfect.”  Laura set aside her glass to draw Remington into her arms.  “Now, about this stocking fetish of yours.”  
  
  
  
They arrived at the airport two rainy days later, only to find their flight delayed due to storms in the area until the following morning.  Annoyed at the situation, but determined not to ruin the tail-end of their honeymoon, Laura pasted a smile on her face.  “What shall we do now, Mr. Steele?”  
  
Not surprisingly, Remington didn't seem thrilled either.  “Ah, well, I’ll find us a nice hotel and a good place for dinner.”  
  
“Sounds like a plan.  I’ll call Mildred and let her know we'll be another day.”  
  
After a flurry of phone calls, the couple huddled under the airport canopy until they found a taxi to carry them to the Clarence Hotel where they would stay for the night.  As they settled in the car, Laura asked, “You spent quite a bit of time in Dublin, right?”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“After we check in, why don’t you show me around?”  
  
“Ah, certainly.”  Remington stared out the windows as water streamed down.  “Of course, love.”  He patted her on the leg.  “We can do that.”  Catching himself, he began pointing out various sights and telling silly stories of himself and his mates from years past.  Laura was laughing as they arrived at the hotel, but his suddenly somber mood hadn’t gone unnoticed.  
  
Later that evening, after a quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant, Laura again urged Remington to take her about town.  “We’ll find a bar and, how do you say, lift a pint for Daniel before we go,” she teased.  
  
“Certainly,” Remington gave her a half-smile, “but are you sure you want to dash about in this weather?”  
  
“It’s my only chance to see some of it, so of course.”  
  
“Mmm, then I’ll call downstairs for a taxi.”  
  
Remington directed the cab around the city, pointing out historic sites and a few memorable places to Laura’s delight.  Suddenly, she asked the taxi driver, “Do you know where Gallagher’s Pub is, or used to be?”  
  
“Aye, I do, me lady.  ‘Twas closed for some time, but reopened some fifteen years back as ‘Cleary’s.’  It’s a bit out of the way, but I can take ye there if ye like.”  Not seeing Remington’s pole-axed face, Laura assured the driver.  
  
“Ah, Laura, we really don’t need to do this.”  His voice was hesitant.  
  
“Oh, it will be fun.  I don’t expect you to find anything important, but don’t you think you’d like  
knowing where your mother and father met at least?” she cajoled.  
  
Remington brooded for several minutes as the car splashed through the rain.  “I’ve been to Cleary’s.  Many times.  It was Daniel’s favorite place to meet.  And now I know why.” Open-mouthed, Laura started to reply when the taxi pulled in front of the building.  Remington paid off the driver.  
  
“Here’s me card if ye want to call for a pick up.”  
  
“Appreciate it, mate.  Tell you what, come back in an hour.  I’ll tip you to make it worth your while.”  Remington slipped him a twenty-pound note.  
  
“Aye, I’ll do that.”  The man was whistling as he shut the door.  
  
They ducked into an extremely dark bar, heavy with yeast and years of smoke embedded in the wood floors and paneling.  The bartender wiping down the counter glanced up.  “Well, bugger me blind, ‘tis Michael O’Leary come in for a pint.  I see ye have a new ladyfriend too.  Ah, Mick, it’s good to be seeing ye.”  
  
Laura watched her husband as he shifted his body language and the cadence of his speech.  His ability to blend into his surroundings never ceased to astonish her.  He ran fingers through his hair, mussing it slightly.  “Aye, mate, ‘tis been too long since you’ve built me a Guinness.  I’ll have one and a Harp for me lass.”  He sounded cheery and flashed a charming grin.  
  
“It’ll be on me, mate.  Give me a bit an’ I’ll join ye.”  The bartender winked and waved them to the back of the pub.  
  
Taking Laura’s left hand, Remington pulled her into a darkened booth and tucked her inside.  After she scooted in, she looked down to her now-naked fingers.  Using the expert skills he'd honed as a thief on the streets so many years ago, her husband had plucked her wedding ring from her hand and pocketed it away with his own.  Too smart to give him away, Laura simply took his hand and held it, running her thumb along the base of his third finger to acknowledge the deception.  On full alert now, she watched the bar, wondering what put him on edge.  
  
The slightly-built bartender slid into the booth, shoving their drinks at them.  “What’s it been, mate, five years since ye been here?”  
  
“Aye, a bit more than that.”  
  
“And who’s the beautiful lass ye brought here?”  
  
“’Tis Mary Kate, Miss Mary Kate to you, if you know how to treat a lady.”  
  
The other man roared with laughter and waggled a finger at Remington.  “Ah, that’s a funny.  Miss Mary Kate, you’ll not be believin’ a word from him.  He’s a lady’s man and they’ll all fall for that devilish charm of his.  Don’t be taken in by his wily ways.”  The barman told story after story of O’Leary’s tricks and deeds from years past, making “Mary Kate” blush and “Michael” laugh.  
  
Careful to keep her mouth shut so as not to give away her American accent, Laura smiled a great deal and nodded often.  
  
When Remington drained his pint and rose to leave, the bartender suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to tell him in a harsh whisper, “O’Leary, I like ye.  Ye can’t stay.  There’s been word out time and again that there are those that are looking for ye, wanting your services.  An’ ye don’t want to be mixed up with these.  Go back to wherever you’ve been with your lass.”  
  
The man slapped Remington on the back and kissed the back of Laura’s hand before all but shoving them out the front door.  A snap of the bartender’s fingers brought the taxi around from wherever it had been hiding.  The couple slid in and let the driver take them to the hotel.  With silent agreement, they kept the conversation soft and light during the short ride.  
  
“Every time I get a peek at your mysterious past, I am more and more impressed with what you’ve accomplished over the years,” Laura commented as she slid out of her wrap and tossed it on a chair in their hotel suite.  
  
Laying aside his own coat, Remington pulled the rings out of his pocket and took her hand to replace hers.  “Sorry about that, Laura.  When I realized I had been recognized, I didn’t want to put you in any danger.”  
  
She took his ring from him and slid it back into place.  “I shouldn’t have said anything about that pub.  I ought to be smart enough to realize that there are things from your past that could come back to haunt you if you aren’t careful.”  
  
“Aye, but we’re going home tomorrow and leaving the past behind.”  
  
“What did the bartender say to you?”  
  
He knew she wouldn’t have missed the exchange.  He smiled and lied through his teeth.  “Just telling me that you were the most beautiful lass he had seen with me yet, and you were the smartest for you didn’t say a word the whole time.”  
  
Laura smiled at his cheeky grin but let the falsehood stand.  He would share it when the time was right.  
  
  
  
_You’re sure it was O’Leary?_  
  
_Yes, sir._  
  
_Did you follow him?_  
  
_I did.  He stayed at the Clarence.  Bloke must be loaded._  
  
_What name is he using now?_  
  
_Steele.  Remington Steele.  He caught a plane to the U.S. this morning.  He’s got a girl.  A wife,  maybe._  
  
_What’s her name?_  
  
_Hotel register said Laura Steele._  
  
_What do you know about them?_  
  
_He left his card.  He owns a private investigation agency in Los Angeles._  
  
_That’s a lark.  Putting the fox in the hen house.  Keep tabs on them from time to time.  They’ll be back._  
  
_Aye, sir.  I’ll do that._  


 


	5. Home

While flying home comfortably in first class, Laura and Remington sorted through Daniel’s portfolio.  “He really does have a villa in the south of France?”  She always thought it a pipe dream of Daniel’s.  
  
“Yes, yes, he does, along with a flat in London and a brownstone in New York.  I have those papers here.”  He raised his eyebrow a bit.  “It also appears that he has several staff members in charge of maintaining each location.  We’ll have to contact them and make arrangements for them to continue if we want to keep the properties.”  
  
“Do you want them?”  
  
“I should think so.  It would be quite beneficial for the Remington Steele Agency to have locations   
internationally.  Not to mention having a handy place to go for a weekend jaunt.”  
  
She laughed.  “You just can’t stand the idea of giving up anything that might force us out of the office every so often.  Your allergy to legwork is legendary.”  
  
“Laura,” he drawled, “the agency has a reputation to maintain, and it is quite important to visit   
occasionally to ensure the properties are being cared for properly.”  
  
“Ah, I see.”  She thought for a moment.  “Mildred.”  
  
“Mildred--Mildred, what?”  
  
“Let’s send Mildred to check out the properties and Daniel’s portfolio.  She’ll enjoy visiting and she can have a vacation in the meantime.  She’s been wonderful about managing the agency these past few weeks even though I’m sure she’s been swamped.  With all the traveling to Mexico, London and Ireland, you and I have been gone far too long.  I’m sure she’ll enjoy staying at Daniel’s places.  If I’ve learned anything about the two of you, it’s that you live first class all the way.  She’ll like being pampered for a while.  Maybe she can take Mickeline.”  She referred to the major domo at Ashford Castle who appeared to be much taken with Mildred.  
  
“You don’t want us to do it ourselves?” he sulked.  
  
“As much as I’ve enjoyed our honeymoon, Remington, I want to go home.”   
  
“Ah, home.”  Remington looked down and pretended to nonchalantly sort papers.  “Where are we going to live?  My place or yours?  Any thoughts on the matter?”   
  
“Actually, yes, but I don’t have any answers.  You hate the stairs in my loft and while I do like your place--after all, I rented it and furnished it in the beginning--I don’t think we can squeeze my piano into your living room.”  
  
“Are you saying that if you could find a place for the piano, you wouldn’t be averse to living at my flat?”    
  
“No.  Not at all.”  She enjoyed surprising him, but really, she'd only had her loft for a couple of years and it was still a rental.  
  
“Hmmm.”  He tapped his cheek.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“That, my dear Mrs. Steele, will have to wait until the morrow when I can do a little more research.  I might have an idea or two you might like.  But let’s make it a surprise, eh?” Laura thumped him on the shoulder before she returned to reading the stack of papers in front of her.   
  
  
  
Tired from the long flight, both of them were glad to have Fred pick them up in the limousine.  After the constant cool air of Ireland, LA’s balmy weather provided a welcome change, and they were both quick to shed their sweaters and coats.  
  
Laura was somewhat apprehensive about their first night back in LA.  Apparently, Remington was too, since he kept twining his fingers about hers during the long drive.  Neither wanted to make assumptions about where they would sleep tonight, only that for certain they wanted to stay together.   
  
“Do you mind if we go to my place for a few minutes so I can pick up some fresh clothes and get my mail?” she ventured, broaching the topic with hesitation in her voice.   
  
“Of course not.  Fred, stop by the loft first, please.”  
  
“Yes, sir.  Might I venture to add my congratulations?”  He had noticed the wedding rings on the couple.  
  
“Thank you, Fred.”  Laura smiled.   
  
“I have no idea why you need more clothes, love.  You've brought half of Ireland back with us.”  
  
She warmed at the endearment.  She got a thrill every time he said it.  “Me?  Just because mine came back in a suitcase, and yours will be delivered by your tailor from London doesn’t mean I brought back any more than you,” she quipped.  She rested her head on his shoulder.   
  
  
*****  
  
  
At the loft, while Remington waited patiently in the kitchen, Laura stuffed several changes of clothes into an extra suitcase and retrieved her favorite pillow from her bed while listening to her answering machine messages.  She had only five, but three of them were from her mother, one from someone named Kate who was coming back on Friday, and the other from her sister, Frances.  Laura wrinkled her nose and a little crinkle appeared on her brow.   
  
“Family duty calling, eh?”  Remington teased.  He liked her family.  They meant well despite driving Laura nutty most of the time.   
  
“I’ll phone them tonight from your place.”   
  
“Perfect.  Ah, perhaps we can stop by the grocer’s on the way home?  I’m rather in the mood for a decent meal this evening.”  
  
Laura grinned.  “You just want to putter around the kitchen.  Oh well, I guess I’ll suffer your cooking.”  She danced out of the way when Remington made to swat her on the rear.   
  
“If there’s any suffering of anyone’s cooking, love, it’ll be mine to yours,” he retorted    
  
She laughed at the old joke, but suddenly grew quiet as they locked the door and returned to the limo.  He knew that look.  It was Laura’s self-confidence taking a sudden nosedive.  Fred held the door of the limo while they slid inside.   
  
“Laura?”  She was looking at her wedding ring, turning it over and over.  
  
Earnest, she spoke up, “Remington, I hope it doesn’t bother you that I’m not much in the kitchen. I’m sure I can learn to cook and at least do my share.  I’ll probably never be as good as you, but I will try.”  
  
He took her very seriously and tipped her chin up to him.  “Laura, I love to, as you put it, putter around in the kitchen.  It brings me a great deal of pleasure.  If you want to learn, by all means do so.  But I  didn’t fall in love with you because you could or could not cook.  I don’t expect you to suddenly become Frances and be the domesticated housewife because we’re married.”  He landed a light kiss on her lips.  “I assure you, I’m much more interested in the skills I’ve discovered that you have in other parts of the house.”  He wiggled his brows flirtatiously.  “And if you want to try that in the kitchen, I’m sure I could accommodate you.”  He leaned in for a kiss to let her know just how much she appealed to him.  Laura’s chocolate eyes lit up, letting him know things were right in their world.  
  
  
  
Later, the smell of duck confit drifted through the flat.  Remington tossed a white dish towel over his shoulder as he mixed an arugula and endive salad.  The telephone rang.  And rang again.  “Laura?” he called as he came out of the kitchen, carrying the salad bowl.  
  
His wife threw him a quick grin as she dashed into the living room.  “Sorry, I was unpacking my things into your bathroom.  Hello? ...  Oh hi, Mom.”  Her voice dropped.  Laura had left a message at her mom’s earlier.   
  
Remington made a face at his salad and stepped back into the kitchen.  He knew Abigail Holt only had her daughter’s happiness in mind, but he and Laura both wished she had a better understanding of what made her daughter happy.   
  
“Yes, Mom.  I know.  If we had time to invite everyone to the wedding, we would have. ...  Yes, I know getting married on a boat wasn’t exactly romantic. ...  No, I’m not pregnant. ..."  
  
Remington snorted under his breath.   _Laura?  Pregnant?  Even her mother should know better than that._   
  
“What do you mean, was it legal?  Of course, it was!”  Laura's voice rose, the ire in it clear as day.  “Mr. Steele is not my boss.  He’s never BEEN my boss, Mom. ...  Yes, we’ve been friends a long time. ...  No, no, it really wasn’t as sudden as you think.  I really did know what I was doing. ...  What do you mean?  Of course, I don’t think he married me just to immigrate to America.  If he did, he wouldn’t have married me again in Ireland just to prove it!”  
 _  
Uh oh, that let the cat out of the bag._  He could hear Abigail’s shriek all the way in the kitchen.  He leaned back to see Laura rubbing her temple while holding the phone about a foot away from her ear.  He could tell from her chagrin that she’d had no intention of telling her mother about their second nuptials on their honeymoon.   
  
Laura’s cool, calm tones took back control of the conversation.  “Mother, stop.  We’re married.  The wedding is over and done.  Whatever you want to do with that is up to you. ...  Yes, I suppose you could send out announcements. ...  What blessing?”   
  
Remington could hear his wife’s voice drop.  Naturally, he stopped stirring the green beans to listen.  A man’s got to keep his hand in somehow.   
  
“I ... haven’t thought about--I have no idea.  I’ll have to talk to Mr. Steele about it.  ...  Can I call you tomorrow and let you know? ...  Yes, we can get together on Saturday.  All right, Mom. ...  Yes, I love you too.  Bye.”  
  
Remington slipped his arms around his wife’s back before she could escape into the bathroom again.  Whatever it was that Laura was supposed to talk to “Mr. Steele” about didn’t need to wait.   
  
“Ask me about what?” he nuzzled her hair.   
  
Laura rolled her eyes.  “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”  
  
“Laura, of course not.  It goes entirely against my training.”  
  
“As what--a detective or a con man?”  
  
“Laura.”  She could hear the warning in his voice.  He wasn’t going to let her off with a joke.  
  
She turned in his arms and nodded toward the kitchen.  “Can we talk in there?”  
  
“Of course.”   
  
Laura perched on the sleek barstool while Remington finished glazing the green beans.  When the silence stretched out, he poured a glass of wine from the bottle breathing on the counter and set it in front of her.   
  
“Thanks.”  She sipped, taking a moment to savored the wine's bouquet.  “Um.”  She traced patterns on the counter with her finger.  “We’ve never talked about religion.  I, ah, believe it’s a personal thing.”  She rushed through the next part.  “Whatever you do or don’t do is okay with me.  I want you to know that.”   
  
Remington moved the green beans to a back burner and turned the flame off before casually pouring his own glass of wine.  He wanted to watch Laura’s body language as she talked.  
  
She shifted in her chair.  “Mom asked if we were going to have our marriage blessed by the Church.  I, I was raised Catholic.  I told her I didn’t know.  We’ve never talked about anything like this.”  
  
“Catholic?  You?” he ventured.  Laura occasionally surprised the hell out of him.   
  
Defensively, she replied, “I know it’s not the usual thing in California--everyone is into free spirits and free will and all that, and that’s okay by me.  But practically my whole neighborhood went to the same church.”   
  
“Is this important to you?”  
  
“No, not really ... maybe, I hadn’t really thought about it.”  
  
“Do you still go to church?”  
  
“Sometimes.”  
  
“Laura, do you want to have our marriage blessed?” he narrowed his eyes as he watched her.   
  
Laura turned her wedding band around her finger.  “It would make my mother happy since she didn’t get to come to our wedding.  I’m sure she’ll want a reception and all the trappings that go with it.  It doesn’t matter, though.  I ... don’t even know if you were baptized or what you think about faith or ... or anything about that at all.”  
  
Remington sighed.  For a razor sharp detective, sometimes she could be so obtuse.  “Laura, I’m Irish, remember, raised in and around Dublin.  Of course, I’m Catholic.  No matter what orphanage or family I was with, every Sunday I went to church until I ran away.  I think I was even an altar boy for a while.  I have no idea if I have a baptismal certificate somewhere, but I imagine it was done a time or even two, just in case.”  
  
Laura bopped herself on the forehead.  “Irish Catholic, of course,” she echoed.  “Why are things so easy all of a sudden?”  
  
“Perhaps because they were so difficult for so long.  Now, let’s eat, love, and we’ll tell your mother the good news in the morning .  Better yet, I’ll tell her and I’ll be her new favorite son-in-law.”   
  
“Donald will be crushed.”  She referred to her sister’s husband as she hopped off the stool and rounded the kitchen island.  
  
“Yes, well, he’ll get used to it.”  
  
“Kiss me.  Kiss me and tell me we can make this work.”  She wound her hands around his neck.   
  
“We’ll make this work, Laura,” he trailed his fingers down her long throat, “because we want it.”   
  
  
  
The next morning Laura rolled over in Remington’s huge bed, taking the black coverlet with her and leaving her husband with nary a sheet to cover his assets.  Rudely awakened by the icy cold air blasting from the air conditioner, he attempted to free a measly few inches from underneath her and failed miserably.  He tried snuggling up to her to take advantage of her obvious warmth, but that too proved futile.  Grumbling to himself about the necessity of sharing more than just the actual marriage bed, he shuffled off to the bathroom.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Hiding a grin, Laura peeked over the sheets as those same finely-muscled assets paraded across the room before the door blocked her view.  Yawning hugely, she stretched, wincing a bit as she found sore muscles.  Some were caused by the long flight, but others--well, her husband bore that responsibility.  Despite their weariness from the trip, Remington managed to make their homecoming quite memorable.  He seemed to think that every new moment in their relationship had to be celebrated with some sort of sexual escapade.    
  
She certainly was a willing participant.  After all, it was a bit like having a Ferrari at your fingertips.  Even while driving 20 mph down a side road, the throbbing of the engine and the feeling of repressed power kept you revved for action.  
  
From the bathroom, Remington cranked on the shower.  She was sure it would be hot, just the way she liked it, too.  Rising naked from the bed, Laura decided to give her new husband a steamy surprise.   
  
  
  
Remington grumbled all the way to the office about the dangers of starting work too soon after a nice vacation.  Laura ignored every word.  
  
“Good morning, Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele!” chirped Mildred.   
  
“Good morning!”  Laura practically sang.   
  
Remington gave Mildred a peck on the cheek.  “Good morning.”   
  
“And how are you two lovebirds?”   
  
“Absolutely delightful!”   
  
Remington twitched a corner of his mouth at his wife.    
  
“So, Mildred, tell me, what’s new?”  Laura perched on the corner of the front desk and dropped her briefcase to the ground.  She was practically floating with glee and rubbing her hands together in anticipation.   
  
“Well, I’ve made a list of what needs to be done.  You left a couple of cases hanging when you left, so you’ll need to close those out.  I’ve done what I could, but one client is pretty irate at the delay.”  She continued, “Here’s the list of people that want our services.  I’ve told them all you were on your honeymoon and would call when you returned.”  Pausing dramatically, she added, “But I’ve got the best news!”  
  
“What’s that, Mildred?”  That was from Remington, holding up the wall while he listened and chewed on a toothpick he found in his pocket.  
  
“I got my private investigator's license while you were gone!”  Her faced glowed pink with pride.    
  
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mildred!”  Laura clapped her hands together.  “How did you get it so quickly?”   
  
“Well, it turns out that all the work I’ve been doing for you since I started counts toward the three-year requirement.  Since you’ve always kept great records, I just pulled it all together and took the test while you two were in Mexico.  All I need is your signature to make it official!”    
  
“I suppose you’ll be wanting a raise now,” Remington commented drolly, gesturing at her with his   
toothpick.  
  
“Oh hush.”  Laura took a paper from the desk and mock-swiped it at him.  “Of course.  And you deserve one.”  The latter was directed at the beaming lady behind the desk.  Tapping the paper on her chin, she mused, “You know, I think it’s time we expanded our operations.  Mildred, you’re going to need your own office if you are going to be the lead I.T. investigator.”  
  
“I.T.?”  
  
“Information Technology.”  
  
“Oh, I like that.  That sounds so important.”  Mildred fanned herself a bit.  “What do you think, Mr. Steele?”  
  
“Delightful.  Laura, it appears that the agency is once again in your capable hands.  Now, if you’ll excuse me ladies, I, ah, want to look in my office for a bit.”  Remington bolted for his door.   
  
“Don’t forget to call my mother,” Laura told his retreating form.  
  
As soon as the door closed, Mildred leaned forward.  “So Mrs. Steele, how was the honeymoon?”  She wiggled her eyebrows comically.  
  
“Perfect, Ms. Krebs.  Absolutely perfect.”  
  
“So tell me, why is Mr. Steele calling your mother?”   
  
“Hmm, because apparently two weddings aren’t enough.”   
  
“Two?”  Mildred blinked in surprise.  
  
  
  
Laura spent the remainder of the morning sorting through files and making phone calls, including the rather painful one to placate a wife sure that her husband was cheating on her.  She promised to look into it right away.  Given the information the wife had already provided, the detective felt certain some simple legwork and perhaps a photo or two would close the case, unfortunately confirming the client’s suspicions.  
  
Another phone call to the building management revealed the availability of an expanded suite two floors up.  She was thrilled to learn that the office could be remodeled to suit her needs.  As she worked through the stack of files on her desk, she noticed that Remington’s phone line stayedlit up for most of the morning. Finally emerging shortly before lunchtime, Laura popped her head into his office.  “Busy?”  
  
He glanced down at the files and notes all over the desk. “No, of course not.  That would imply that I’m actually working.”  
  
All sly smiles, Laura sashayed to his desk and perched on the edge.  “Have I mentioned how attractive I find you when you’re buried in paperwork?”   
  
“Hmm, no, but please feel free to enlighten me.”  He dropped his pen on the stack to nibble on her   
fingers.   
  
She walked them down his tie.  “It makes you look so responsible, so serious.  It’s very appealing.  Did you call my mother?”  
  
“Why do you think I’m doing paperwork?” he dodged.  Laura picked up a file and tossed it at him.  He caught it with a grin.  “Of course, I did.  She’s delighted and she’ll make all the arrangements.  I’m now officially her new favorite son-in-law.”   
  
“Hmmm.  I suppose you think you deserve a kiss for that.”  She reeled him in with the tie.   
  
“It will do.  For now.”  Their mouths touched.  
  
Mildred opened the door, catching them in a lip lock.  Remington opened his blue eyes to see Laura’s brown ones dancing with laughter.  “Perfect timing, Mildred.”  She turned her head to look at her.  “I wanted to see if you two want to look at an office suite that’s available upstairs.”  
  
“Oooh, I’m in.  Just let me put on the answering service.  Got some more paperwork for you, Boss.”  Mildred handed Remington a stack of files and chortled at his chagrin.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
The trio walked the new digs appreciatively.  With a twinkle in his eye, Remington teased Laura, “Really now, darling, it’s just not the thing for your office to be the same size as mine.  Why, no one will know who’s in charge of this operation.”   
  
Laura caught his sly smile and strolled nonchalantly away from the windows.  “Actually, those offices are mine and Mildred’s.”  She pointed through the door into a tiny space she thought would make a nice file room.  “That’s yours.”  
  
Pretending insult, he sputtered, “I think we’ll discuss it at length, don’t you think?  I mean, it just    
wouldn’t do for the image you want me to project.”  Mildred chuckled at the by-play as the couple   
bantered easily.  
  
She eyed the pair with happiness.  She didn’t think she’d ever see the day that her kids would finally be  together.  But the conversation was easy, the tones light, and the newlyweds couldn’t seem to get within arms’ reach of each other without finding an excuse to touch.  Repressed desire had been replaced by honest affection.  She chortled to herself.  It would be interesting watching the pair chart these new waters, especially when she caught Mrs. Steele unabashedly admiring Mr. Steele’s backside.   
  
  
*****  
  
  
That afternoon, Laura reviewed the contracts for the new lease and discussed the need to hire a new secretary with Mildred.  Since their caseload was relatively light at the moment, it was a perfect time to make the changes that would expand the business.   
  
She was quite proud of the way her agency had come along.  Six years ago, she opened her one-person operation under the name Laura Holt.  Now that she had two investigators working for her--well, as much as Remington worked for anyone--and she could see the definite possibility of bringing an intern into the company to do simple legwork and to handle some of the more routine cases.    
  
Mildred had proved herself an excellent asset over the years.  Many times her benign appearance gave her a real leg up when asking questions or while shadowing a suspicious character.  In addition, her ability to finesse information from the computer was second to none.  With her accounting and IRS background, there was no one better suited for interpreting financial records and finding the tiniest inconsistencies that lead to case resolution.  A number of divorce cases were turned on end when Mildred presented accurate records of assets, despite shady transfers or sales.    
It was also apparent that the firm was now handling a great deal of security for various events.  Remington had a real knack for that end of the business.   _I can’t imagine why_ , she thought dryly.  As a result, the agency had developed a solid reputation for providing top notch protection.  She thought it might be wise to simply shift that part of the business to him instead of reviewing each case and handing it to him as she had in the past.  Doing so would free Laura to pursue some of the more complex investigations requiring the extensive legwork she enjoyed.    
  
She had to admit that she and Remington simply made an outstanding team.  Her ability to sift through the most mundane details combined with his innate ability to connect the dots through sheer intuition--or perhaps it was that he understood the criminal mind; she was never sure--gave them the ability to solve even the most complex of crimes.  In the most private corner of her mind, she knew that she would have built an agency without him, but she wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun.   
  
As the clock closed in on four, jetlag finally caught up with her.  She knocked on Remington’s door and found him reclining in his chair reading through property listings in the newspaper.  Without even a touch of the arrogance that he so often demonstrated, he set his paper down onto his perfectly clean desk and crossed to capture her lips in a sweet, passionate kiss.  Staggering a bit, Laura smiled softly and touched her bottom lip.  “That is definitely a perk of being married.  I don’t feel guilty about that at all.”  
  
“No, and neither do I.”  He brushed a kiss across her knuckles.  
  
Curiosity got the best of her.  “What have you been working on all day?  Every time I’ve noticed, you’ve been on the phone.”  
  
“Besides dealing with your mother and the stack of files Mildred plunked down on my desk?”  He shot her a dirty look when she laughed.  “I’ve been looking at properties that might suit the two of us.  Care to go with me to look at one in particular I think you might like?”  
  
“That sounds wonderful, but you have to take me to dinner afterward.”   
  
“I’d be delighted, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Remington drove Laura in the Auburn.  He had missed this car.  Laura had her eyes closed in the passenger seat while he skirted traffic on Wilshire Boulvard. “I’m thrilled Mildred has her license.  It’s going to make things much easier around the office.”  
  
“How so?” asked Remington.   
  
“Well, I don’t have to sign off on everything she does.  Of course, I’ll review the cases and help her when she needs it, but some of the things she does with accounting are out of my league anyway.”  
  
“Sounds delightful.”  
  
“You know, if my records are good enough for Mildred to prove her apprenticeship, they are certainly good enough to prove yours, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Mine?”  Remington scowled at her when he stopped for a light.  
  
“Certainly.  I think I see a private investigator’s exam in your future.”  
  
“You want me to take a test?  Does the great Remington Steele take tests?” he quipped.  
  
“Well, it would mean that my signature won’t be needed whenever you close a case--or sign a security contract.”   
  
He turned to face her.  “Is this Laura Holt I’m speaking with?  The same Laura Holt that keeps every element of her life under her thumb.”  
  
“No.  This is Laura Steele.”  She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.  “And Mrs. Steele thinks it’s a little silly to be reviewing her husband’s work all the time.”  
  
Remington touched his cheek in confusion as the light changed to green.  
  
  
*****  
  
Laura was perplexed when they drove directly to Remington’s building.  “But I thought--”  
  
He put a finger to her lips.  “Just a moment.”    
  
She was even more bewildered when they walked to an elevator at the opposite end of the building; one she didn’t even know existed.  He placed a passkey in the slot.  “I didn’t know this was here.  Where are we going?” she asked as the elevator carried them up.  
  
“Well, I have an idea for where we could live.”  The elevator doors opened to reveal an elegant foyer.  Remington unlocked the glass door and held it open for Laura.   
  
She wandered through the penthouse, admiring the slight traditional accents combined with an elegantly modern style.  Warm hardwood floors accented with creamy ivory and black notes here and there were a perfect merging of his and her styles.  She imagined her piano sitting just in front of the expansive tinted glass windows, looking over the city skyline.  The kitchen, with its granite countertops and state of the art appliances, would be perfect for Remington’s efforts.  Three bedrooms took up one end of the flat and a study and dining room took up the other.  In the center, the kitchen overlooked the living room which spilled out onto a wide terrace.  In moments, she fell in love.   
  
“No one is living here?  When did this become available?”  Laura’s brain kicked in then, and her heart sank as she began to make mental calculations.  “Remington, this is beautiful, absolutely lovely, but I think even a lease is a little outside the agency’s budget.”   
  
Remington had been quietly following her from room to room.  Now he took her hands and kissed them.  “The agency doesn’t have to afford it.  I own it.”  
  
Laura’s jaw dropped as she sputtered. “But how? ...  When? ...  Huh?” she said intelligently.   
  
“Laura, my love, there is no con in the world quite as sweet as the real estate market.”  He patted her hand and began walking her through the flat.  “The penthouse was put on the market a couple of years ago.  I purchased it and leased it to a businessman wanting a spot to stay when he traveled to LA.  We had a convenient arrangement.  He had a place that wasn’t a hotel, and I could terminate the lease at any time.”   
  
“But Remington, I thought the agency paid all your bills!”  Laura stalked around the living room, trying to process what he’d said.  
  
“It’s been a while since you’ve balanced the agency checkbook, hasn’t it?  Mildred does a fine job in that area.”  He didn't quite cover the glee in his voice.   
  
“Then you never needed me to cover your expenses in the first place.”  
  
“No, darling, that was something you volunteered to do.  What was it that Daniel taught me?  To squirrel away nuts here and there?”  He grinned at her sudden discomfort at remembering her own words.   
  
“Just how much real estate do you own?”  
  
“Oh, a building here and there.  Nothing too complex.  I have a wonderful management company.   Care to see my portfolio?  I daresay it’s not as extensive as Daniel’s, but he had a bit of a headstart.”  Remington couldn’t hide his smile.  The surprise on Laura’s face was worth a fortune to him.   
  
“I ought to make you pay me back for all the ‘expenses’ you’ve submitted.”  
  
“Better check your books before you make that threat.”  Remington took her face in his hands.  “What do you think, Laura?  Do you like it?  Will you live here with me?”  
  
Marveling at the way he continually astonished her, she said yes.

 

 


	6. Revelations

The next morning, the Steeles filled Mildred in on the extent of Daniel’s holdings.  With glee, the new private investigator agreed to tour the properties and look into the various accounts dotted all over Europe.  Remington made an appointment with the law firm upstairs to write a Power of Attorney, and Laura booked Mildred a flight for the following Saturday.  In the meantime, Mildred arranged for a temp agency to provide the office with secretarial services for the next four weeks.  
  
On Wednesday, a young man by the name of Ian Connelly arrived.  Dark-eyed with white-blonde hair, he nervously introduced himself to the team.  Remington eyed the young man suspiciously, but Laura smiled warmly and welcomed him in.  
  
At three on Thursday, Mildred all but danced out of the office to pack and call the Dragon Ladies to tell them the good news.  Her bowling team would just have to do without her for a few weeks. Ian nervously watched her go.  When the phone rang, he punched at it with wild eyes before settling in as he took messages and began transferring calls.  
  
At five, Remington dismissed the younger man, then strolled over and locked the front door.  With casual grace, he retrieved Laura and drew her into his office, tugging off his tie as he did so.  When she closed the door with a smile, he locked it behind her and queried, “You know what’s going to happen now?”  
  
She toyed with his buttons.  “I can guess.”  He lifted her and deposited her onto his spotless desk, sliding her skirt up in the process.  
  
“I am going to spend the next thirty days fulfilling every fantasy I’ve ever entertained involving you and this office.”  
  
“On one condition.”  Laura tipped up his chin.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“We fulfill mine too.”  She ran a stocking-clad foot inside his trouser leg.  
  
“I think we can manage all that.”  He pressed her against the desk and began to loosen her buttons,   
exposing all those pretty freckles in broad daylight.  
  
  
  
On Friday, Laura seemed thoroughly distracted but remembered to give Mildred the company credit card for the trip.  
  
“Where’s Mr. Steele?” the new private investigator asked.  
  
“Mildred, it’s only nine in the morning.  He’s never in this early.  Oh, I’m going to be leaving in just a little bit.  I’m expecting family today.”  
  
“But what about your appointments?”  
  
“Mr. Steele can handle them.”  Laura disappeared into her office.  At ten-thirty, Remington opened the door as she waved Mildred good-bye.  “Have fun.  By the time you get back in a month, we’ll be ready to move the offices.”  
  
“Are you sure you kids can do without me?”  Mildred wanted to know.  
  
“No, but since you covered for us, I think we will do our best to do the same for you.”  Laura slid past Remington.  “Bye.”  She gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek.  “See you--” The door slammed, cutting off her sentence.  
  
He started to go after her, but Mildred reminded him he had a client waiting in his office.  Before he opened his door, he turned to Mildred, “Ah, did Laura seem distracted today?”  
  
“Sure, Boss.  Said something about her family.”  
  
“Ah, her mother, of course.  Reception plans, I imagine,” he scowled as he opened his door, then replaced his expression with a winning smile for the waiting client.  
  
Ian and Mildred exchanged shrugs.  
  
  
  
For the next week and a half, Ian took plenty of messages while the couple packed up their respective apartments and moved into their new penthouse.  Amid smiles and squabbles, the two meshed their possessions and shopped for new ones to finish out their home.  Remington refused to let Laura have anything to do with the kitchen, and she insisted he stay out of their new home office while she outfitted it to her heart’s content.  
  
With a touch of sadness, Laura strolled around her empty loft.  “I’m going to miss this place.  It was fun creating it out of nothing.  And it was mine.”  Remington stroked her shoulders and arms, allowing her to lean back into his embrace, saying nothing, but understanding the sensation.  Earlier that day, he felt somewhat the same when he closed the door to his flat.  Eventually, she stopped reminiscing and they turned to leave.  “I can’t quite get used to the idea that we’ll be landlords though.”  He had insisted that they purchase both properties and lease them out.  
  
“The management company will take care of them for us.  All we have to do is check in from time to time to make certain they do an excellent job.  You’ll like it, and we’ll make a bit of the blunt while we’re at it.  Another nut, you might say.”  He enjoyed the subtle jab while Laura wrinkled her nose at him.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Eventually, Laura’s curiosity got the best of her, and she pulled up the agency’s books on Mildred’s computer while Ian was out to lunch.  Each month, Mildred presented an agency cash flow statement and a balance sheet to her.  After the first year or so, she had become quite complacent, glancing only at the bottom line and spot-checking Remington’s expenses.  Mentally berating herself for her laziness, she pulled out the most recent month’s records and poured over them in detail.  Then she pulled out a  month’s worth of records from the year before.  And the one before that.  
  
For the past three years, Remington drew only a reasonable salary, commiserate with what any relatively experienced private investigator would expect to earn.  Laura could find no expenses at all associated with his flat or personal lifestyle.  Oh, occasionally a mysterious lump sum of cash was withdrawn, but it was always replaced within a matter of days or weeks.  She imagined Mildred had a handy explanation, but at least one of these withdrawals coincided with a boat she knew her husband had been determined to buy--and the funds were replaced days later.  
  
Engrossed in the files, she didn’t notice Remington stepping up behind her.  He watched in silence as she interpreted the agency accounts.  She hesitated and then searched the computer for his records.  When she found them, her fingers stilled on the keyboard as she discovered her conscience would not allow her to invade his privacy by opening the documents.  Laura moved her hand to the function key that would close the screen.  
  
She jumped violently when Remington laid his hand over hers.  He pressed her fingers in the sequence that opened his files.  “It’s all right, Laura.  You have a right to know.”  He eased around to sit on the desk next to her.  
  
She reddened, then paled, as his portfolio popped up on the screen.  Properties, bank accounts, and various financial investments covered several pages.  
  
“Mildred gives me a balance sheet every month just as she does you.”  
  
Laura stared dumbly at the screen.  Not once in the time she knew him had she entertained the thought that Remington was privately wealthy.  
  
He couldn’t stop the huge grin.  For months, he'd had waited for the perfect moment to surprise her.  “I’m quite disappointed in you, Laura.  For a detective, it seems that you’ve missed a clue here and there.”  
  
“My piano?”  She referred to the black baby grand he gave her after her house blew up.  She'd never figured out how he paid for it, and quite frankly, didn’t want to know.  It was enough that he had given it to her.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
His wife slowly leaned back in the chair, still staring at the screen.  “It’s ironic, you know,” she said with reluctance, “all these years I’ve accused you of arrogance when I was the truly arrogant one.  I’ve held my agency and the checkbook over your head.  You didn’t need either one.”  Shaking her head slightly, her eyes dropped to stare at her hands still resting on the keyboard.  She tapped the correct function key and shut down the file.  
  
Remington touched her cheek.  “The way I see it, we’re evenly balanced, as it should be.  You’ve your agency, and I’ve my accounts.  I’m glad to come to you, not with my hat in hand looking for a handout, but as a husband with something to offer you.”  
  
Laura mulled over that declaration for a moment, finding it surprisingly palatable.  “I’ll take it as a measure of our trust in each other that neither of us thought about a prenuptial agreement before we tied the knot.”  
  
“Never even a notion, darling.”  He pulled her in for a searing kiss.  “That’s what was on my  mind.”  
  
She returned it with heated fervor.  “Mmmm, I’ll claim that rain check tonight.  In the meantime, I imagine at least one of your bank accounts can take me to lunch.”  She quirked her mouth in a smile.  
  
Remington pressed his lips to hers one last time and escorted her out of the office.  “I imagine it will.”  
  
  
  
Over the next few months, Remington Steele Investigations and Mr. and Mrs. Steele each made numerous and considerable adjustments to their current situation.  Mildred returned after the first  four weeks with glowing praise for Daniel’s properties and detailed information about the portfolio he left scattered all over Europe.  
  
Remington and Mildred closeted themselves for hours as they consolidated and reallocated the assets he inherited with his own.  Unbeknownst to his wife, he retitled quite a bit into her name and several others into joint accounts.  He was a touch too European not to hand over some substantial properties and assets as a bridal settlement.  He considered the agency her dowry, a fact he was sure his liberated wife would find an insult, so he declined to mention it.  
  
Laura peeked in from time to time but stayed busy with the final renovations on the new office suite.  A week after Mildred returned, they began moving operations upstairs.  Five days of four people stepping all over each other in three offices had became a bit much to bear, and they were all happy to relocate to bigger quarters.  
  
During the move, Laura decided to keep Ian on full-time.  The young man proved himself a solid employee by soothing clients and keeping the internal operations running smoothly.  He had a Midwestern friendliness about him combined with pure California style that was quite appealing.  Most importantly, he performed with the high level of professionalism Laura demanded.  
  
She watched her husband to see how he adjusted to having Ian, another man, in the office.  Remington and Murphy had been extremely competitive with Laura at the center of their difficulties.  But Ian treated Laura with the utmost of respect and demonstrated no interest in her whatsoever.  He was much enamored with his various girlfriends near his own age.  
  
Remington only tolerated Ian at first, and then began treating the new employee as a younger brother, in need of advice and caution, often unlooked for.  Ian was still quite intimidated by Mr. Steele, but they eventually established a working relationship.  
  
Relieved of the secretarial duties of the agency, Mildred reveled in her new status as a full-fledged private investigator and dove into the work as if born to it.  She had a real knack for uncovering “white-collar” crimes, and several small companies had already placed her on retainer to periodically review their books.  A number of divorce attorneys kept her number on speed dial whenever extensive assets were involved or suspected.  
  
With his brand-new private investigator’s license in hand, Remington groused about the expanded responsibilities of the security side of the firm but, with his usual charm, executed them with finesse and excellence.    
  
Laura delicately managed the three of them and reserved the most complex of cases for herself.  She unabashedly pulled in Mildred and Remington whenever necessary to their mutual delight.  In case after case, the team solved thorny, interesting and often dangerous mysteries.  
  
There was a token attempt by Laura to establish a policy about sex in the new office, but Remington managed to change her mind.  Mildred and Ian made up their own rule about firmly knocking on any closed doors or buzzing the Steeles via the phone before entering one of their offices.  
  
  
  
Three months after their return from Ireland, the Steeles celebrated the convalidation of their marriage at the Christ the King Catholic Church, found just down the street from their Rossmore Avenue penthouse.  As they walked down the aisle together, each of them delighted to see the other wearing the same clothes from their wedding in Ireland--Laura in white Irish lace and Remington in his black tuxedo.  The priest gave a blessing as they renewed their vows again.  
  
He whispered to her, “Third time’s the charm, eh?”  
  
She hid a small smile.  “Just making sure you stick around.”  
  
Abigail's beautiful reception at a nearby luxury hotel surpassed all expectations.  A spattering of good clients, Bernice and her husband, a couple of Laura’s old roommates with their spouses and two of Remington’s good friends attended the celebration.  Laura’s entire family, including an aunt and uncle she hadn’t seen in ages, came as well.  The newly married Murphy and Kathleen Michaels arrived from Denver with a gleam in their eyes.  The couple just found out they were expecting twins, and Kate’s tummy had already begun to round.  
  
Of course, Mildred wouldn’t miss this for the world; she stood in for Remington’s family, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.  The tender way he kissed her cheek and hugged her for a long moment let her know how precious she was to him.  She patted him on the side of his face and gave him a quick wink in return.  
  
After dinner and many toasts, the crowd began dancing to the sweet, romantic tunes Remington selected for the evening.  He danced with Laura, of course, then Abigail, Mildred, Francis and Kate.  Laura spun around the floor with Murphy, Donald, and Remington’s old friend, Monroe.  
  
At Remington’s signal, the band struck up its last tune, and the lead singer announced the couple’s final dance together.  Family and friends took to their seats as Remington led Laura to the center of the floor.  In the sparkle of the dim lights, the incandescent couple danced to the Casablanca classic, “As Time Goes By.”  He softly sang the words to her as he swayed and spun with her across the dance floor.  At the end, he swirled her into a perfect dip.  She pointed her toes, then curled them at the suddenly passionate kiss he gave her.  A camera flashed in the background.  He brought her up again to the applause of the crowd and twirled her one last time before leading her off the dance floor for a final sip of champagne.  
  
In spite of the teasing Laura doled out, she loved Remington’s showmanship.  He wasn’t afraid of the limelight and he relished bringing her into it.  Just as she delighted in proving to him that he could be faithful, serious and worthy of love, he reveled in bringing out her wild side, full of flash and sass.  
  
Dizzy with happiness and champagne, the Steeles made their exit to the cheers of the small crowd.  They tumbled into the backseat of the limo, giggling madly.  The loving that night was fabulous as befits a happy couple celebrating their marriage the third time around.  
  
The picture-perfect dip-and-a-kiss photo graced the LA Tribune gossip column the next morning.  The caption?  “Steeling a Bride.”

 

 

 


	7. Citizen Steele

A few weeks after that lovely celebration, a new representative from the Immigration and Naturalization Service made a surprise visit to the Steeles on a lazy Sunday morning.  
  
Wearing only pajama pants and a silk robe, Remington expertly flipped an omelette loaded with vegetables while Laura, clad in her own pretty pj’s, stirred her coffee at the other end of the island.  She loved to watch him cook and he enjoyed tempting her palate.  
  
“Keep eyein’ the chef, love, and you’ll ne’er get a bit o’ breakfast that way.”  
  
Laura smiled in her cup.  Remington’s Irish brogue thickened whenever he was truly relaxed.  She had been hearing it quite a bit lately.  “Mmm, but you are a prime example of ‘easy on the eyes.’ ”  
  
The doorbell rang.  Laura leaned over to answer the intercom.  “Hello?”  
  
“Mrs. Holt-Steele?”  
  
“Yes.”  Laura frowned at the appellation.  
  
“Elise Medrano from INS to see you and Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Ah, okay.  Yes, I’ll be right down.”  Laura scrambled off the chair and sprinted to the bathroom while Remington smoothly plated the omelette and shut off the stove before following her.  
  
“Bloody, buggering hell,” he muttered.  The pair swiftly dressed in casual slacks and sweaters.  Remington made a mad dash through the penthouse, looking for incriminating bras or underwear they might have left scattered about while Laura rode the elevator down to meet the INS agent.  She finger-combed her hair and slicked on the lip gloss she'd snatched off the vanity and jammed into her front pocket on the way out the door.  
  
The door opened to reveal a woman not much older than Laura carrying a brown briefcase and wearing a no-nonsense ivory suit.  She flashed a card with her name and agency seal and then stepped into the elevator without a word.  While the elevator carried them to the top floor, Laura stuck out a hand impishly.  “Laura Steele, pleased to meet you.”  
  
The woman took it sourly.  “Elise Medrano, INS.”  Elise had been warned that the Steeles were very slippery.  It appeared they were married strictly to keep Remington Steele, if that was his real name, in the United States.  Details about him were sketchy, but he appeared to have been living in the U.S. for the past few years, possibly illegally.  However, she had also been cautioned that the initial agent assigned to Mr. Steele had seriously bungled the investigation.  One way or the other, Elise was expected to close this case.    
  
Laura continued, “They told us to expect a surprise visit. ...  Ah, here we are.”  
  
Remington perfectly timed opening the lobby doors with those of the elevator, creating a striking view of the morning skyline over L.A.  Either the agent wasn’t impressed or she has a fantastic poker face, he thought.  Behind her, Laura rolled her eyes.  Ah, not impressed.  “Good morning, madam.”  The snooty British public school tones were back in his voice.  
  
“Remington Steele?  Laura Holt-Steele?”  The agent sat on the plush leather sofa in the center of the apartment.  
  
Gingerly taking a seat across from her, Laura corrected the woman, “Just Steele.  Laura Steele.  I   
dropped my maiden name when we married in Ireland.”  
  
Remington smiled.  “May I offer you something to drink?  Or breakfast?  I just finished making my wife an omelette.  I daresay it would be no trouble at all.”  
  
“Ah, no.  No, thank you.”  Now the woman shifted awkwardly.  “Married in Ireland, did you say?  I don’t have that information.”  
  
“I’ll get that for you.”  A moment later, Remington returned with a file folder under one arm and Laura’s breakfast in his hands.  He set the plate and coffee on the low table and handed the file to Ms. Medrano.  He left again and returned with his tea, then relaxed on the sofa next to Laura.  
  
Elise glanced through the file, noting the marriage certificate and the Marriage Registration Form.    "These appear to be in order, but I’ll need a duplicate to take with me for verification.”  
  
“We have a copier in our home office,” Laura responded as she sampled her eggs.  
  
Elise opened her briefcase to pull out a stack of documents and a small tape recorder.  “Mr. and Mrs. Steele, with your permission, I will record this interview.  It will become a legal part of these   
proceedings.”  They nodded and she switched it on.  “Your name is Remington Steele.  Is that your legal name?”  
  
He smiled broadly.  “Yes, my full name is Remington Daniel Harrison Steele.  There’s a copy of my birth certificate in the file I gave you.”  
  
“Ah, the name matches the passport then.”  She paused with her brow furrowed as if she saw something wrong.  “And you’ve been working in this country for how long?”  
  
“Ah, since 1982, when I became associated with Remington Steele Investigations.”  
  
“And who owns Remington Steele Investigations?”  
  
“I do.”  Laura sipped her coffee.  
  
“How did you two become associated?”  
  
“I liked his name.”  
  
“I liked her agency.”  
  
“So you formed a partnership?”  
  
Laura fielded this one.  “No, I own the agency, but I needed someone who could project a certain image to attract the clientele I needed.  Remington filled those shoes very well.”  A tiny grin played around on her lips.  
  
“And what kind of business is this?”  
  
“It’s a private investigation agency.”  
  
“And what do you do?”  
  
“It’s threefold.  First, we have a securities arm primarily headed by Remington.  Many of our clients wish us to provide security for particular events or items or even for their homes and businesses.  We also have an Information Technologies arm that focuses on divorce cases, white-collar crimes and financial services.  Last, we handle the more traditional PI work where we are hired to look into situations that may or may not involve the local authorities.  That’s my end of the business, but we all tag-team and support each other wherever necessary.”  
  
Elise nodded curtly and focused her gaze intently on Remington.  “Mr. Steele, I have no record of your entering the United States as a legal immigrant, and your birth certificate here clearly indicates that you are an Irish citizen.  Would you care to comment?”  
  
Laura flicked a glance at her husband.  “Certainly.”  Remington’s eyes sharpened.  Laura recognized that studied casual demeanor and knew not to believe it one bit.  “I believe that illegal immigrants working and living in the United States since 1982 are granted amnesty under the Immigrant Reform and Control Act of 1986.  I can provide evidence that I have been working and living here during that time.”    
  
The woman was nonplussed.  She noticed that the man did not answer her question directly.  She was quite familiar with the IRCA 1986 and was prepared to exercise it in order to clear the case, but she decided to dig for more information about the marriage itself.  If she could prove it a marriage of convenience, there still might be grounds for Steele’s deportation.  
  
“All right, then, let’s talk about your marriage.  It’s clear that your marriage that took place on the boat off the coast of California is questionable at best.  However, you indicated that you were also married in Ireland a few weeks later.  Why?”  
  
The couple looked at each other, and Laura cocked her head for Remington to answer the question.  “Laura and I danced around from the first day we met, trying to keep our relationship professional, yet we were obviously attracted to one another.  Quite frankly, we became good friends and fell in love at the same time.”  
  
Laura took up the story at his glance.  “With all the chaos and confusion with INS before, once things settled down, we decided that we wanted to say our vows again in Remington’s country.  Vows in Ireland seem to mean more than they do here because people there take marriage very seriously.  We had to jump through quite a few hoops to gain the right to marry there.”  
  
“And every one of them was worth it,” Remington added.  He took Laura’s hand and brushed his thumb across her ring.  
  
Laura’s eyes sparkled with glee.  “We also, ah, had our wedding blessed by the Catholic Church just five weeks ago.  Since our weddings were so private, our families and friends enjoyed celebrating with us after the convalidation.”  
  
Elise frowned.  Something else no one bothered mentioning to her.  It did appear the Steeles were   
serious.  Marrying in the Catholic Church meant annulments would be in order if they chose to divorce and remarry elsewhere.  “Tell me about your living and financial arrangements.  Do you share a home?”  
  
The couple laughed.  “Take a look around.  This is where we live,”  Remington commented with a grin.  
  
“I’ll do that.”  Elise inspected the penthouse carefully, looking for personal items belonging to both of them.  She found pictures of them, toothbrushes, clothes of all kinds in the closet and the laundry basket, and a very messy bed in the master bedroom.  The shower held his and her shampoo, along with a razor on the edge of the tub and another in the top drawer next to the sink.    
  
The other bedrooms were quite pristine, but the home office was obviously shared.  The desk was broad with chairs on either side.  Two computers and several files rested on it.  In the living room, she opened the drawers of the entertainment center, noting the variety of videos inside.  “Who’s the movie buff?”  
  
“That would be Remington.”  
  
“And who’s the Atomic Man fan?”  
  
“Ah, that’s Laura.”  
  
Of course, Elise thought to herself, a couple of detectives would be experts at planting evidence and staging a proper scene if they desired.  She reseated herself across from the couple and smoothed her skirt.  
  
“Let’s talk finances.  Do you share a checking account?”  
  
“Yes, we have one,” said Laura.  
  
“Among others.”  Remington handed Elise another file that he had retrieved during her tour of the house.  
  
“What is this?”  
  
“A list of accounts and assets held jointly between us.”  Remington stole a glance at Laura and gently closed her dropped jaw with a finger before the agent noticed.  He leaned over as if to kiss her and whispered, “Just sharing the spoils, darling.”  
  
Elise seemed not to notice and began speaking, “You two are certainly making it difficult to extract   
yourself from this marriage.  At first glance, I have to conclude that both of you are quite serious about this arrangement.”  She asked for copies of the relevant documents and stuffed them into her briefcase when Laura returned with them.  
  
“Mr. Steele, if all this is in order as it appears to be, the IRCA of 1986 will, in fact, grant you legal   
citizenship in this country.  There will be a brief hearing in the next three months that will finalize your legal status.  The fact that you have married an American citizen and appear to be committed to her will only help your case.  “You will not receive a green card, and you will not be subject to the two-year probationary period associated with it as your citizenship is not dependent on your marriage.  Thank you for your time.  You’ll be hearing from INS soon to finalize your case.”  She rose to shake their hands and left with expediency.  
  
When the elevator doors closed, Elise leaned against the wall, fanning herself.  In her many years with INS, she had learned to read the nuances of couples to determine which ones married for convenience and which genuinely cared for each other.  The Steeles simply glowed.  The quick looks, the way they finished each other’s thoughts, the shared smiles.  Elise didn’t miss the way Mr. Steele brushed his thumb across his wife’s wedding ring, nor did she fail to notice how Mrs. Steele subtly defended her husband and deflected certain questions.  Without a kiss, caress, or even a hug, the Steeles demonstrated their love in a thousand little ways.  The air about them simply hummed. Elise thought her own husband might benefit from this little visit.  She had no doubt the Steeles would find their own special way to celebrate.  
  
Laura closed the foyer doors behind her.  When the elevator shut, she yipped with glee and bounced into Remington’s arms.  Stunned, he automatically closed his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.  They held on for the longest time.  In the silent corner of Remington’s mind, that tiny seed sprouted and put down roots.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
After a while, Laura leaned back.  “Now, what about those accounts?  Just exactly what do we jointly own that I don’t know about?  
  
“Ah, well, love, let’s have a look, shall we?”  He pulled her into the office where he retrieved a second file.  “Would you like to see what we own or what you own first?”  
  
An astonishing half-hour later, while Remington finally got around to scrambling himself a couple of eggs, Laura’s brain stumbled along as she processed all of the information her husband had spread out on the kitchen island.  Once again, Remington’s generosity humbled her.  More than half of his entire portfolio, including his inheritance from Daniel, was retitled in either both of their names or in hers alone.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because this was one way I could show you that I’m taking all this quite seriously.”  He slid his eggs onto a plate and took a bite.  
  
“All this?”  
  
“Our marriage, our life.  You want proof that I won’t walk out on you, ever.  I can’t give you anything but my word on that.  But I can damned well make things next to impossible for us to ever get divorced.  It would take us years to unravel all of this if both of us weren’t perfectly willing to walk away.”  
  
Laura looked down at her hands, somewhat embarrassed.  “Your promise has always been enough, Remington.”  
  
“I know, but indulge me a bit, okay, eh?”  He nudged her chin up for a sweet kiss to her lips.  
  
“It seems I do that a lot.”  
  
“Yes, and you always have a wonderful time.”  
  
That tickled a smile out of Laura, for she had decided the same not too long ago.  “How did you accomplish all of this without my knowledge?  Wouldn’t you need my signature?  Oh, wait. ...  Of   
course, Mildred was in with you on this, wasn’t she?”  
  
“Ah, Laura, you are so delightfully innocent in so many ways.”  He speared his last bite of eggs.  “I spent months copying and perfecting Remington’s handwriting and signature, which, of course, was your handwriting in the beginning.”  
  
“So forging my signature was a snap.”  
  
“Can we just call it being expedient and not forgery?”  
  
“And, naturally, Mildred notarized everything; she recognized my signature because she witnesses   
documents all the time.”  Laura crossed her arms and tapped her fingers on her elbows.  “I think I should be angry, but I can’t think of why at the moment.”  
  
“Then perhaps we should forget about being angry and think about interesting ways to spend the rest of our Sunday.”  He braced his arms on either side of her.  
  
“I suspect I can manage that.”  
  
“Good.”  He landed a hot, lusty kiss on her mouth.  They didn’t make it to the bedroom this time.  Or the next.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Six weeks later, Remington had the promised short hearing and was granted legal citizenship in the United States.  Laura surprised him with a weekend trip to Disneyland.  They spent the morning on roller coasters, fanciful rides and taking silly pictures of each other and the inevitable characters strolling in the park.  After a quick, tasteless, and exorbitantly-priced lunch that appalled Remington, Laura dragged him to yet another of her favorite rides.    
  
“Why are we here again, standing in ridiculous lines and wearing mouse ears?”  
  
“Because you’re officially an American, and you can’t get much more American than Disney.”  
  
“Yes, but really, Laura, I’m sure there’s a movie of this place somewhere.  I’m thinking a nice, cool glass of champagne and a hot tub would be an excellent way to celebrate my new status.  Besides,” he paused as a tow-headed child shoved past him to scamper up the line, “this is making me rethink wanting children.”   _Oh bloody hell, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.  It's one thing to be comfortable with Laura; it's another to spill out your private thoughts.  Ah, bugger it; she knows those too.  
  
_ “You want children?”  
  
 _Of course, she jumped on that one.  She's a bloody detective, you flaming idiot_.  “Ah, someday,   
perhaps.  When the memory of this place wears off a bit.”  
  
“You’ve never mentioned it before.”  They shuffled forward a few steps.  
  
“Laura,” _in for a penny, in for a pound_ , “with the life I was living, even a year ago, do you really think I could imagine bringing children into the equation?  What should I have told them about their father?  ‘No, sweetheart, I don’t know your last name, and Daddy’s off to lift a bit of the blunt for supper.’”  
  
Laura laughed.  “You’re being dramatic again.”  
  
“Aye, maybe so,” his Irish thickened again, “but bein’ a con artist or a thief is a perfect game so long as no one you love gets caught up in it.  Once there’s a girl, a real lass you want to take home, you’ve got to give up the game.  If you don’t, someone will get hurt or killed or left behind.  And you never, ever leave someone behind that can’t take care of himself.”  
  
Laura gave him an odd look, unsure if he was serious or not.  
  
“You know, I should ask the same question of you.  Do you want children?”  Remington neatly turned the tables on Laura as they entered the last turn before the haunted ghost ride.  
  
But Laura surprised him with her easy response.  “I do.  That’s one of the reasons I wanted to work for myself.  A woman simply can’t maintain an effective career if she works for someone else.  I love what I do, but I want the flexibility to have a family too.”  
  
Remington was speechless.  Since the beginning of their association, he had thought her entirely focused on her career.  With all the grousing he heard from her about her family, not once had she dropped an inkling of a hint to him that she might want her own one day.  Once again, she surprised the hell out of him.  Laura gave him a small push as their turn arrived.  They ducked into the car and held hands through the dark ride, but they were both quite distracted at the implications of their conversation.  As they exited into the bright sun, Remington wondered, “What if I said I didn’t want children?”  
  
Laura looked at him thoughtfully.  “I wouldn’t believe you.  I’ve seen you with Laurie Beth, Daniel and Mindy.”  She referred to their nieces and nephews.  “I know you love being with them, no matter what they dish out.”  The kids adored "Uncle Remy" and were the only ones that could get away with that nickname.  “I remember how much you enjoyed the baby we kept a couple of years ago.  You didn’t want to give him back.  In fact, you even sang him a lullaby--of sorts.”  She grinned.  "And don’t forget, I saw you with Kate at the reception when she told you they were expecting twins.  The look on your face was nearly ... well, ‘reverent’ is the only word that comes to mind.”  
  
“I don’t know anything about having a family, Laura.”  
  
“Neither do I.  But we can learn, right?”  
  
Both were rather thoughtful before the afternoon parade diverted them from their musings.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
At dinner that night, the couple flirted over escargot and crème brulée, heavily laced with a celebratory bottle of Dom Perignon.  They laughed over past exploits and some of the silly situations they had gotten into and out of in their career.  
  
“How many buildings have we burglarized together?  Was it more or less than in your previous profession?  I mean, I’m bound to be catching up with you by now.”  Laura smiled as she sipped from her champagne flute.  
  
“Mrs. Steele, you have no idea.”  He slipped a bite of dessert into his mouth.  “Fifty-eight.  I wrote them all down once.  Then I burned the list.”  
  
“Fifty-eight?”  Laura was astonished.  
  
“That doesn’t include the ones where we were invited in and lifted the merchandise.  That was Daniel’s favorite method.  I liked the sheer audacity of outwitting an entire security system to take what I wanted.”  
  
“No wonder we’ve built such a reputation in the security field.  I had no idea.”  Laura couldn’t help admiring Remington for his daring feats.  “Didn’t you tell me once that Interpol thought you were ‘Le Renard'?”  
  
“Aye.”  Remington speared another bite with one hand while he reached for her hand with the other.  
  
“How did you wiggle out of that?”  
  
“I met this lovely brunette in a fabulous red dress.  I took one look at her, and she ensnared me with her wit, her sultry brown eyes and her iron-willed ability to keep me from her bed.”  Remington dropped a kiss on the back of her hand and began stroking his long fingers in her palm.  
  
Laura almost let him get away with the diversion as little electric shocks vibrated up her arm.  She shook her head at him.  “Nope.  Not this time.”  She pulled her hand away and dropped it in her lap.  “Interpol left you alone.  Why?”  
  
“What's the phrase Murphy uses?  Ah, yes.  Bigger fish to fry, I imagine.  Between the jewels in Mexico and the "Five Nudes of Cairo," I gained a fairly decent reputation.  They even assigned an agent to track me: Peterson, I think his name was.  But a year or so after that, I went underground in this delightful little agency and haven’t surfaced since.”  He smirked.  
  
Laura wrinkled her brow.  “But Scotland Yard should have made the connection years ago when they confiscated your passports.  They had to have known.”  
  
“True.  I’ve wondered about that myself.  My best guess is that since we saved the Earl of Claridge from assassination, they buried the information and never reported it.  Now if it became known, it would be an embarrassment to the British government, ... and you know how the British despise humiliation.”  
  
“So you think Interpol hasn’t connected your old passports with Remington Steele.”  
  
“No.  If they ever do, I’d better hope they still have bigger fish to fry or else the statute of limitations has run out.”

 

 


	8. Steele Partners

It’s not unusual for a private investigator to end up with the odd injury or two, given the line of work.  To keep them to a minimum, it was a standing rule at Remington Steele Investigations to work in teams of two.  
  
Generally, Laura conducted the initial interviews with the clients and began the basic research for the case.  She often carried out surveillance independently during the day or spoke to utility companies or other professionals to help build the facts of the situation.  Once she began interviewing witnesses, combing crime scenes for clues and conducting covert hunts for information, Remington joined her until the case was concluded.  If her husband wasn’t available, Mildred came along to keep the team intact.  
  
The practice worked quite well even when Laura sustained a serious knee injury chasing a suspect down a busy sidewalk.  The man shoved her squarely into an ornamental tree with decorative ironwork about its base.  She caught her foot in the metal, and her forward momentum caused her knee to connect solidly with the trunk.  True to the team, Remington was hard on the heels of the crook and brought him down moments later. She had to limp to a pay phone and call the police before gingerly making her way down half a city block to where he was kneeling on top of her assailant.  Unfortunately for her, the hobbled walk made the injury worse by tearing a number of the damaged ligaments even further, requiring surgery to repair the knee.  
  
She returned to work immediately but traded duties with Remington and spent her day dealing with   
security contracts.  Despite her husband’s constant grousing about the tedious legwork, he pulled it off with aplomb.  
  
After a solid month of healing, followed by another eight weeks of physical therapy, Laura walked   
without a limp and resumed her normal duties.  And Remington began shadowing her on even the most routine of legwork.  She found him loitering in the lobbies of buildings.  He made excuses to tag along with her while she questioned a utilities rep at the electric company.  She saw him following her car to the bank.  She lost count of how many times he “surprised” her with lunch while she was out.  
  
For three weeks, Laura tolerated Remington’s need to trail her everywhere she went.  By Friday of the fourth week, however, her patience came to an end.  Late that afternoon, she stormed into the office, past Ian and Mildred, and slammed her office door.  
  
“Uh oh,” Mildred commented, “I guess the honeymoon is finally over.”  
  
“Didn’t you say their first anniversary was coming up soon?”  Ian wondered.  
  
“Yeah, next month.”  She hmmed for a minute, then pretended to read a note from the secretary while Remington stalked through the office and opened Laura’s door.     
  
“Laura!” he yelled.  
  
“Out!” she yelled back, “I’ve seen enough of you for today, mostly in my rear view mirror!”  He shut the door to her office behind him.  
  
Mildred leaned over to Ian.  “How about you put on the answering machine and we’ll go home early?”  
  
“Um, sure.”  They gathered their coats and walked to the elevator.  Ian worried a bit.  He liked the two detectives, and it was obvious how much they cared for each other.  “Do you think they’ll work it out?”  
  
“Psshh.  They used to fight like this ALL the time.  If you ask me, things have been a little TOO quiet around here.”  Mildred jabbed the button for the bottom floor.  
  
Remington knew he crossed a line with Laura just as he knew he could no more stop himself than he could the morning tide.  She had been furious when she caught him following her again.  He tried for patience and tact.  “Can I help it if I fret about my wife while she’s working?”  
  
“Yes!  Especially while she’s working!”  She retorted, then calmed down somewhat.  “Remington, I know you’ve been worried about me since I hurt my knee, and I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.  You’ve picked up the slack here at the office; you’ve helped me countless times at home.  Not once have you complained about all the extra work you’ve had to do.  I can’t express how much I love you for that.”  Her voice rose again.  “But it doesn’t change the fact that you HAVE to let me do my job!  I don’t need your following me around every single moment of the day!”  
  
Remington jammed his hands into his pockets and watched her for a long moment.  “My apologies, Miss Holt.  It won’t happen again.”  He walked through their connecting office door and neatly shut it.  
  
Laura winced at his parting shot.  It was obvious he was hurt, but she sat and fumed at her desk, muttering about overbearing husbands and insensitive jerks.  She sorted through files, not really looking at any of them, then resorted to tidying her desk and shutting down her computer in infinitesimal steps.  After that, having worked out most of her mad, she approached the connecting door and knocked lightly.  
  
“Come in.”  
  
Laura slowly opened the door.  Remington sat in his chair and was staring out the window, one elbow propped on the armrest and his fist knuckled against his chin. She eased into the room and sat in one of the grey leather chairs facing his desk.  Unconsciously, she copied his posture, only she toyed with a thumbnail while she tried to think up an opening line that wasn’t sarcastic or snotty.  
  
“Remington, I … I’m sorry for the way I acted.  I should have told you sooner how I was feeling.  I was angry, but it doesn’t give me the right to hurt you.”  Quietly, she watched him for a reaction.  
  
He rose from his chair and paced in front of the window, hands in pockets once more.  The silence   
stretched until he broke it by slamming his hands on the desk and leaning across to look her straight in the eye.  She jumped.  “Bloody hell, Laura, do you know how many people in my life there have been that I truly gave a damn for?  One hand!  I can count them on one hand!  And you’re at the top of the bloody list!”  He shoved off and stalked about the room.  “I was right behind you and couldn’t do a bloody thing about that bastard we were chasing.  I’m damned sure not going to let it happen again!”  
  
Laura rose and leaned against the desk.  “Remington, it was an accident.  As you once told me, this is a profession that sometimes results in bodily damage--hopefully theirs, but not always.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “What’s really going on here?  We’ve both taken our fair share of hits in the past and we’ve always bounced back and kept on going?  Either you didn’t shadow me like this before or you did a better job and I didn’t catch you at it.”  
  
Remington shot a dirty look at her.  “If I wanted to hide from you, you would never find me.”  He   
stalked over to stand directly in front of her.  “You don’t get it, do you?”  
  
“No, I don’t.  Care to explain?”  She didn’t hold back the snotty tone this time.  
  
“Ah, the logical Laura is back,” he sneered.  
  
“Is this about being married?  It is, isn’t it?  We’re married and suddenly you get proprietary.”  
  
“Proprietary?”  Remington fumed.  “You think this is about trying to own you?  Damn it, Laura, this is about the fact that I love you and have spent the past four months getting you back on your bloody feet.  Give me a goddamned break here.  If I want to watch over you every bloody day for the rest of your life, you’ll bloody well learn to live with it.”  He leaned in to kiss her, but as his lips hovered over hers, he changed his mind and shoved away.  
  
Laura had a flash of insight, recalling a conversation they had months ago.  “Up until this happened, it has all been a game to you, hasn’t it?  Not us--the agency.”  
  
Remington spun around.  “Care to explain?” he dangerously echoed her words.  
  
“It’s what you told me at Disneyland.  You never leave someone behind who can’t take care of himself.  You’ve stopped believing in my ability to look out for myself or for the team.”  She took a ragged breath and slouched on the desk.  “I can’t believe how much it hurts to know you think that way.”  He started to speak, then fell silent as he took in her words.  
  
She continued, “Being a PI is just thrilling enough that you can treat it a bit like a con game, walking the edge of the law and coming out with the big prize.  But in the past, whenever one of us was injured, or even both of us, we acted as if it was a bit of a lark.  But it’s not, is it?  And it’s not just you; I’m guilty of it too.”  She rubbed her hand up and down her arms.  “Messing up my knee that badly must have scared you, but you never let on.”  
  
Now Remington leaned on the desk next to Laura and stroked her cheek with one finger.  “How am I supposed to stay angry with you when you use that brilliant mind of yours to dig right to the heart of the matter?”  He spoke his next words very carefully.  “Perhaps you were right about my ... not thinking you could handle yourself.  Please believe me when I tell you that’s my heart speaking, not my head.  I should have thought more about why I had such a need to protect you and to look a little further than my fear of losing you.  For what it’s worth, I’ve never consciously questioned your competence.  In my head I know you can take care of yourself.”  He paused.  “I just need to be with you for a while.  Maybe for me more than you.”  
  
Laura shook her head and breathed deeply.  “As long as this is about how much you love me and not about if I can still do my job ... I suppose I can deal with your following me everywhere for a while.”  
  
Then he kissed her.  And she kissed him back.  
  


 

 


	9. Interlude

For their first anniversary, Remington surprised Laura by flying them on a private jet to New York on a Thursday night.  They landed as the morning sun was peeking over the horizon.  The Atlantic Ocean sparkled in the light, enchanting Laura.  Her reaction delighted him and he watched her face glow with anticipation as they descended.  
  
For the next five days they took in Manhattan in classic New York fashion: dinner, dancing, two Broadway shows and a concert at Carnegie Hall.  Laura insisted they see the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building while they were there.  They held hands and wandered around Central Park, just a short walk from the tiny-but-elegant brownstone flat that Remington inherited from Daniel.    
  
Remington discovered his favorite London designer had a shop in the city.  While he fingered ties and dress shirts, Laura found a sassy little black dress that swirled up her body and clung in all the right places.  She found the perfect pair of black and silver heels to show off her toned legs.  Later, when she stepped out of the bathroom, he whistled appreciatively, and they nearly missed the show that night.  
  
  
  
Laura surprised Remington with paperwork.  He wasn’t the only one that could copy signatures and have them notarized.  The paperwork made Remington and Laura Steele equal partners in Remington Steele Investigations.  
  
That sprouting shoot flourished.  
  
  
  
A few weeks afterwards, Laura found an intimate nickname for her husband.  While she loved the name Remington--after all, she picked it--she didn’t like either "Rem" or "Remy," finding the former unwieldy and the latter somewhat childish.  He wasn’t crazy about the appellations either, so she had simply stuck with either "Remington" or "Mr. Steele."  
  
One cool night, while on the sofa watching The Big Sleep for the fiftieth or sixtieth time, Remington began laying kisses down the back of Laura’s neck.  She squirmed but stayed in place while his hands wandered over her body.  It wasn’t long before she was more than willing--and they were both fully clothed.  He turned her around so she straddled his lap.  Like teenagers, they fondled and kissed, moving from first to second base.  Unlike a teenager, he knew exactly how to touch and tease her as he rounded third, sending her into orbit in moments.  She tried to call his name, but all she could say was “Rei ... Rei ...” before she was consumed.  
  
Later, after they were both sated and drowsy, Remington pulled the throw blanket over them.  He   
brushed his fingers over her freckles, playing connect-the-dots.  She gave him a sleepy smile and caught those fingers for a kiss on the tips.  “Laura,” he hesitated, “earlier, you called me ‘Rei.’ ” He pronounced it with a soft ‘r’ and a long ‘e.’  She blushed and swept her eyes down.  He tipped up her chin.  “I like that.”  
  
In the weeks to come, Remington found she used the nickname whenever she felt especially close to him--never in company, rarely in public or while working, but frequently at home or in bed.  Once again, Laura found a name for him that soothed his heart and soul.

 

 


	10. Plans

For their second anniversary, Laura booked a special trip to Ireland, taking care to fly through Cork International Airport, well away from Dublin.  The servants-come-owners at Ashford Castle were thrilled to welcome back the Steeles and prepared a very special suite for them.  
  
They never arrived.  
  
  
_Sir, Mr. Steele’s coming to Ireland.  
  
You’re sure?  
  
Yes, sir.  Steele and his wife are arriving tomorrow afternoon.  
  
Good job, kid.  You’ll have a bonus next payday.  
  
  
_ The Steeles landed in Cork City and headed directly for the Rochestown Park Hotel where Laura had booked the Presidential Suite for the night.  They had a long drive tomorrow to Ashford Castle and needed time to recover from the late flight.  
  
The bellhop brought their luggage and carried them into the bath suite.  “Do you wish for unpacking services?” he asked.  
  
“Ah, no, thank you.”  Remington slipped him a generous tip.  
  
The young man nodded.  “Good day, sir.”  
  
It had been a long flight, compounded by a delay in New York City that resulted in an almost fourteen-hour trip.  If one figured in the time of day, travel time to the airport and security delays, the Steeles had been awake for nearly thirty hours.  Laura staggered into the bathroom, ignoring the stunning black marble countertops atop the white wooden cabinets.  She unzipped her cosmetics case and dug around for her facial cleanser.  “All I want is a shower and a bed.  Sorry, Rei, you might have to wait until morning.”  She yawned enormously.  
  
“I’m not sure I’ll argue with you on that, love.”  He pulled off his sweater.  Laura dove into the shower, steaming up the bathroom.  Remington warmed up his own washcloth and pressed it to his face.  He glanced into his wife’s makeup bag, noticing her brand new set of birth control pills tucked into the side compartment.  In his own exhausted state, he was barely thinking when he palmed the case and hid it in the lining of his own luggage.  Then he stripped out of his clothes and tumbled into bed.  He heard Laura shut off the shower.  
  
She rummaged around in her case for a few moments and then found her moisturizer and a simple baby doll pajama top.  She crawled into bed and he dropped his arm across her waist.  They were both asleep in moments  
  
  
_I got a call today.  He brought his wife.  
  
Good.  Then we’ll stay with the original plan.  How long are they to stay at the hotel?  
  
They check out tomorrow afternoon.  They’ve got a limo and driver arranged for the next two weeks.  
  
That’s our link.  Get on it.  I want them both, but separate them.  You know how to do it.  
  
Yes, sir.  
  
You’ve got the others in place?  
  
I will shortly.  
  
Call me when you have them.  
  
Yes, sir.  
  
  
_ The pair slept nearly thirteen hours until the late morning sun began peeking through the cracks in the drapes.  Still nestled with Laura, Remington woke, or rather, more impertinent parts of him insistently nudged him awake.  Cuddled up to his deliciously warm wife, he stroked her shoulders, down her arms, to her hips and back again.  When she began to stretch and press into his body, he covered her breast, stroking its fullness before settling in to circle and tease the sensitive tips.  Once they peaked, his hands drifted down her belly, pulling her firmly against him.  
  
She woke fully, opening her eyes with a smile.  
  
Without a word, Remington pushed her to lie on her stomach while he stroked her backside and teased her dampening cleft.  He rose over her, sliding kisses down her neck and spine, then tasting the sensitive area at the small of her back.  Her legs split apart, beckoning, as sparks jolted her small frame.  He couldn’t help nipping that beautiful bottom as it twitched.  Remington slid a hand between her legs, teasing and touching until she was writhing in delight.  
  
Laura felt him straddle her and press firmly against her entrance.  She wiggled, trying to ease him inside, but he was having none of it, concentrating instead on kissing each freckle dusted across her neck and back.  His tongue drew shivers across her skin.  
  
Remington loved Laura’s responsiveness and the sheer thrill of drawing pleasure from her body.  She left him no doubt that she loved each and every thing he did to her.  God knows, she could arouse him just with a look.  Passionate and as insatiable as he, she gave her own creative spin to lovemaking that matched his ardor.  
  
Now, breathing softly in her ear, he held her captive with most of his weight resting on her.  He held utterly still while the anticipation of his entry drove Laura closer to the edge.  Her imaginative brain was his best friend as she feverishly awaited his next move.  
  
“Rei,” she pleaded, and then gasped when he pushed up completely off her, pulling away entirely.  Bereft, she started to roll over, but he stopped her by drawing her to her knees by her hips.  At the same time, he slid all the way inside her in one smooth motion.  She grabbed for the headboard as he pumped his hips, driving her hard and fast.  When she leaned into him, pushing him even farther into her depths, he clenched his jaw.  When she circled her own hips, he lost control--thrusting deep inside her again and again--until she cried out his name.  Uttering hers under his breath, he clutched her to him and found his own release.  
  
They collapsed as they were with Remington buried deep inside Laura and both of them panting for breath.  Moments, or maybe hours later, he rolled off her, and she stretched like a sleepy cat.  “Now  that’s my idea of a wakeup call.”    
  
He took her hand and planted a kiss on the knuckles.  “Anytime, love.”  They lay side-by-side in  
comfortable, lazy silence until Laura’s stomach rumbled.  “Good Lord, woman, if you’re hungry, why didn’t you say something.”  He rolled to his side and propped up his head.  
  
“I think I just did.  Want to call in for breakfast?”  
  
“Mmm, I can do that.”  
  
While Remington arranged for food, Laura headed for the elegant bathroom.  Grey marble with delicate black veins lined the walls.  Fresh lavender decorated the countertop, imparting a fresh clean flavor to the air.  She dove into the shower again, this time scrubbing her hair clean and taking quick swipes with her razor.  With a thick white towel wrapped around her head, she completed her morning toilette.  Hunting around, she dug for the packet of pills she was sure she tucked in the case before they left.  
  
“Remington?”  
  
“Mmmm?”  He relaxed on the bed, appreciating the coverlet that combined a 1940’s black, white and brown motif with an art deco flair.  He flicked on the television and zipped through half a dozen channels.  
  
“I can’t find my birth control pills.  I thought I packed them.”  Laura began to panic.  “Uh oh.”  
  
Remington clicked off the TV and strolled into the bathroom.  “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I was supposed to start a new pill pack on Thursday, but I forgot to take one before I packed.  I figured I could just take two when we got here, but I was so tired yesterday, I forgot then too.  If I can’t find them today, I’ll miss three--and I can’t remember, but now it might be too late to start them.”  Laura’s face paled.  
  
“Would that be such a terrible thing?”  Remington asked, watching her intently.  
  
“I don’t know.”  She crossed her arms tightly.  
  
“Laura, don’t block me out.  We need to talk about this.”  He drew her to the bed and sat down on the edge before pulling her into his lap.  “What if you did become pregnant?  With our child?”  He stroked her arms lightly.  
  
She laid her head on his shoulder for several minutes while her brain sifted through the possibilities.  She clicked on the optimistic tone in his voice.  
  
He began a mental list of all the reasons they should start a family.  He was on number eight when she raised her head to look him straight in the eye.  
  
“I think it would be wonderful.”  
  
His heart nearly stopped.  Did she really say that?  Dumping her off his lap, he stood, quite shocked.  
  
Laura laughed as she sprawled on the bed.  “Not what you were expecting, I guess.”  
  
He dashed to the bathroom and retrieved her pills from his case.  Standing in the doorway, he held them up for her to see.  “You’re sure?”  
  
“Remington Daniel Harrison Steele, you lifted my pills!”  
  
“I did.  Do you want them?”  He stared at her intently.  The air grew still and quiet with only the hum of the heater in the background.  
  
“No.”  
  
He froze for a moment, then ripped the foil packet out of the case and flushed all twenty-eight pills down the toilet at once.    
  
“I guess I won’t change my mind,” Laura snorted.  Then she laughed out loud at Remington’s chagrined expression.  
  
“Bloody hell, what did I just do, Laura?”  
  
She wrapped her arms around him as he stared into the clean white bowl.  “Well, for starters, you took the decision right out of our hands.”  
  
They stared at the toilet for a moment more.  “I suppose I could go get condoms.”  Remington winced at the thought.  One of the perks of being married was never having to wear one of the blasted things again.  “Assuming it’s not already too late for that.”  
  
“Do you really want to?”  It was Laura’s turn to wait for his answer.  
  
He turned in her embrace, leaning his forehead against hers.  “No.”  
  
  
  
The pair devoured their food in the dining room of their suite, scraping up every last bite of the hearty Irish breakfast Remington ordered.  “Mmm, Laura, I’m quite impressed.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat so much at one time.”  
  
“We missed dinner last night and maybe even lunch.  Airplanes just don’t offer much for food anymore.”  Laura yawned and stretched in her chair.  She glanced at the clock.  “You know, darling, I have to confess, I forgot about jetlag when I scheduled us to stay only one night here.  I have absolutely no interest in getting in the car for a four-hour trip to Ashford today even if someone else is doing the driving.”  
  
“Hmmm, let’s see what we can do about that.”  Remington reached for the phone on the side table and punched the number for the concierge.  
  
“Steele here. ...  Yes, everything is quite all right. ...  Tell me, is this suite available tonight as well? ...  For the rest of the week. ...  Thanks, mate, we’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave.”  
  
“Now, darling, I’ve found my schedule is suddenly clear for the rest of the day.  What do you think we should do about it?”  He nibbled on her shoulder.  
  
“You’re insatiable!”  
  
“Perhaps.  I’ll have you know I have at least another two or three years to make up.”  Remington loved reminding Laura of the long years of their association that not once included anything more than kisses.  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to bed.  “Then again, given our present circumstances, I’m quite certain I’m supposed do my part in getting you pregnant.”  He stifled her immediate protest with a hungry kiss.  
  
Laura loved the thousand moods of Remington Steele.  He could be anything from a pure gentleman whose only desire was pleasing his partner to a raging lover bent on possessing every inch of her.  He was often funny, even silly in their lovemaking.  
  
Today, he was tender, trailing his fingers over her body, lightly tasting each sensitive inch.  He relished her equally loving caresses.  He shivered as she softly blew across his skin after heating it with a kiss.  They made slow, sweet love in the long afternoon.  
  
  
_Sir, the Steeles called for their limo.  
  
Excellent.  
  
  
_ Laura dressed for a casual dinner in black corduroy slacks and a bisque sweater layered over a black turtleneck.  The cold air convinced her that boots would be a better choice, but she compromised by wearing the ones with the pretty heel.  
  
Remington shrugged on his own jacket and helped her with her cashmere wrap.  She loved this coat and the many others her husband had conspired with his own tailor to make for her.  Last Christmas, he finally weaned her from carrying a clutch everywhere when he surprised her with a very unique coat.  Fashionable and warm, it held a myriad of sleek pockets to hold all the things she insisted on having with her.  The pockets were cleverly concealed in the plackets, seams and linings of the thick cashmere so that even when patted down, it would be impossible to know she carried anything at all.  Over the past few months, sexy new jackets, cloaks and coats in all weights and styles appeared in her closet.  It was fun learning to be discrete in a whole new way.  
  
Today, she had her identification, money, credit cards, lipstick and a slim pair of sunglasses that Remington picked out in a little shop in Cork on their way to the hotel.  Of course, he also made an extra stop at a place he knew to be certain she carried a few tricks of his former trade: lock picks, a slender pocket knife, the tiniest flask of oil and a petite flashlight.  
  
She fluffed her hair as he planted a quick kiss on her cheek.  “Ready?”  
  
“Ready.”  
  
  
_Ready?_  
  
_Ready._

 

 

 


	11. Faith

The Steeles strolled through the elegant lobby with Laura’s heels clicking on the parquet floors.  A clerk at the registration desk admired the gorgeous couple and the obvious sparks between them that trailed in their wake.  They stepped into the freezing air.  Little snowflakes blew around and plastered themselves against the black limousine waiting in the circular drive.  The driver held the door open.  
  
As they ducked into the limo, a young man dressed as a bellhop came running out of the hotel.  “Mrs. Steele, Mrs. Laura Steele,” he panted, “Ah, a message for you at the front desk.”  
  
Laura and Remington looked at one another and she shrugged.  “I’ll go get it.  You stay warm; I’ll be just a minute.”  She slid out of the car.  “It’s probably the butler at Ashford wondering where we are.  I did give them our itinerary.”  She briskly walked to the front desk where the clerk handed her an envelope with her name on it.  She opened it only to find a perfectly blank sheet of paper inside.  She frowned as she walked out the door and looked up to the waiting car.  
  
The limousine exploded, the force of it knocking Laura to the ground.  She rolled to her knees and scrambled to her feet, first saying, and then screaming, Remington’s name.  She flew to the burning car, grabbing the scorching hot handle.  When that failed to open, she reached through the shattered window and tried to unlock it from the inside.  Her left hand blistered and seared in the process, but she was oblivious to it.  Her only thought was to get to her husband.  
  
She felt people grab onto her and pull her away as smaller explosions rocked the limo.  Someone snuffed out the burning embers on her coat.  “Rei!  Rei, Rei!”  She screamed his name over and over again, pulling and kicking to break free of the kind strangers pulling her to safety.  “No, no--my husband’s in that car!  Oh God, oh God, Remington--"  
  
The pain in her hands that washed over her before she lost consciousness was nothing compared to the black hole that opened in her heart.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
From the rear of a sleek grey car pulling away from the ghastly sight, a hooded man held a 9mm to Remington’s head with one hand.  His partner had a firm grip on his hair and another on his bound arms.  "Yer supposed to look, mate,” rumbled the man with the gun and a foul grin.  
  
Even if he wanted to turn away, Remington had his eyes riveted on the scene unfolding in front of him.  He flinched when the car exploded.  His captor’s grip tightened, leaving bruises.  He watched his wife as she pounded on the car screaming.   _No, no, Laura, I’m not there_ , he shouted in his head.  He breathed her name as she struggled to shrug off the very people trying to help her.  When she collapsed, he swallowed the lump in his throat.  
  
“I’m gonna need yer wallet, mate.”  That was the last thing he heard before a sweet-smelling cloth was pressed to his face.  He struggled against the men and rope that held him, but the chloroform did its trick, and Remington collapsed on the seat of the car.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
The horrific explosion at a luxury hotel was picked up by the local news.  A persistent reporter pried the names of the victims from the flustered clerk at the desk and practically ran to his office to submit the story to the Associated Press.  Anytime Americans were involved in a foreign bombing, the first to report it was almost guaranteed worldwide print time.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Her clothes felt gritty and smelled like smoke.  Involuntarily, she flexed her hands, causing her to shiver from the terrible pain.  Eventually, Laura opened her eyes to gaze blankly at the stone wall four inches from her face.  
  
Her body was one long ache.  Each time she moved, her muscles protested as the bruises and scrapes from landing hard on the pavement became apparent.  She ignored them and rolled onto her back.  Above her, old wooden timbers supported the high, blackened ceiling.  All four walls of stone radiated cold, and the wooden floor was scraped and battered from perhaps centuries of use.  The small room had an equally battered wooden door and a tall narrow window near the ceiling.  It held only a rickety, rusted iron bed with the thinnest of mattresses that Laura was lying on.  A tiny camera was mounted above the door.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Remington watched Laura on the monitor as he had for the past three hours since a couple of goons dressed as paramedics had dumped her on the bed.  He saw her gingerly sit up and take inventory of her injuries. He caught a glance of her reddened hands before she hid them and tipped her face to the ceiling.  Even from the screen, he could tell she was dazed.  
  
A heavy, pale man walked into her cell.   _Fuck me, it’s Denis O’Callaghan._  Remington recognized the man tossing a blackened rectangle on the floor in front of Laura and saying something with a nasty grin.  He watched Laura pick up the burnt wallet and peel it open to reveal his own twisted and melted driver’s license and credit cards.  The con artist in him impassively judged the scene being played out as an excellent scam.  He couldn’t hear everything O’Callaghan was saying, but it clearly upset Laura though she hid it well enough from anyone but her own husband.  When the man departed, she retreated to the bed with the wallet, thumbing through it, smelling it and stroking it over and over again.  She stared blankly into the cell, turning the filthy thing in her hands, clearly not caring about the ashes coating her blistered fingers.  
  
Remington’s violent anger was restrained only by years of experience.   _Icy calm, old chap.  Can’t get us out until we know the game._  He, too, had been tossed into a cramped stone room, but beyond the initial scuffle when he was yanked out of the limo by the two bully boys, he was uninjured.   
  
Angry with himself for walking into a trap, he stalked about the nearly empty room.  It only held a small cot, a chair and the computer screen sitting on a little table.  The door to the cell had a window where an armed guard kept careful eye on him.  Remington knew he could pick the lock in seconds but at the moment had no way of taking out the sentry.  
  
The door to his cell opened, and the man who spoke to Laura came through it.  Nattily dressed, he noisily pulled up the lone chair and sat, propping an ankle across his knee.  Once known as a handsome man, he was now heavy with a florid face from too many late nights and serious drinking.  “Michael O’Leary.  Or perhaps, I should call you Remington Steele.”  
  
“Mick’ll do, Mr. O’Callaghan.”  He smoothly shifted character and sat on the bed with lazy indifference.   Mentally, Steele played a poker game with the man.  The cards had been dealt, and he had a lousy hand.    
  
“So you know me?”  
  
“Aye, and who wouldn’t be knowin' Denis O’Callaghan of the Dublin Six?  Be in the trade for a while, ye get to know who’s pullin' the strings.”  That was an understatement.  The Six were well-known in the underworld as the kingpins of Dublin and had been for the last fifteen years.  Drugs, prostitution, blackmail, gambling and theft--they had fingers in all the pies.  Combine that with the revenge and betrayal that goes along with the territory, and no sane man wanted to associate with them.  But there were always the greedy ones that couldn’t resist temptation.  
  
“Then you know I pay well.  But I don’t like shirkers.”  
  
“Aye, I’ve heard that about you.”  
  
“Good.”  The thick man gave him a hard look.  “Well, Mick, that’s a gorgeous lass you’ve got yourself there.”  
  
“Aye.”  It wouldn’t do any good to deny they had a connection.  He acted bored and scratched his chin.    
“What can I do for you?”  
  
“I’ve got a job for you.  And some incentive for you to do it well, I think.”  He nodded at Laura on the screen.  
  
 _Time to bluff_ , Remington thought.  He snickered.  “Her?  She’s a sweet lass but not worth a job a bloke like you is sure to be thinkin.’ ”  
  
“Ah, that’s the way it is.  Well, then you don’t mind us having a little fun with her, do you?”  
  
Steele shot him a wary look.  O’Callaghan pointed to the screen.  
  
One of the bully boys set a sack inside the room and propped himself against one of the walls while motioning to Laura.  She crossed to the bag and poked at it before dipping her hand in, pulling out a cold sandwich.  She gingerly tasted it before setting it down with her right hand.  With her mouth and wrists, she opened the bottled water and drank the entire contents.  By the flex of her hands, Remington could tell they were causing her quite a bit of pain.  
  
“Now that wasn’t a very smart thing to do,” O’Callaghan commented.  Steele sharpened his eyes on him.  “The water was spiked with a mickey and a painkiller.  It will all go straight to her head.” O’Callaghan gestured casually toward the monitor.  “You’ve got a choice.  Either you can go take care of her, or I’ll let my boys have a go at it.”  In one move, the man called the game and left Remington holding a losing hand.     
  
From their detective work, both Remington and Laura were familiar with the insidious drugs that loosened all inhibitions and blanked out the memory.  There was one case in particular involving a young girl that still haunted both of them.  He folded, admitting she meant something to him.  “I’ll do it.  She doesn’t deserve what yer boys are sure to do.”  He rose to his feet.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Laura fanning herself as she stripped out of her coat.  
  
“A moment, Mick.”  O’Callaghan went to the door and gave instructions to someone outside.  He returned a moment later.  “Strip down to your skivvies, my friend.  Leave the rest of your clothes here. You’re slippery, and I can’t take the chance of you running.”  Very matter-of-factly, the man continued, “Take care of the girl and we’ll talk.”  
  
Infuriated at the setup, Remington stripped down to his undershirt and briefs while the man strolled over to the monitor and watched Laura for a few moments.  “If you’re not going to let the boys play, be sure to give us a good show.”  
  
Remington shot a sour face at him.  “Aye, I can do that.”  
  
“Good.  If you leave before the job is done, I’ll send my boys to finish it up.”  The threat chilled Remington to his bones.  The mere thought of one of these men touching Laura was too terrifying to consider.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll understand why you need to wear this.”  The pale man dangled a hood from his fingertips.  Without a word, the captive slipped it on and allowed O’Callaghan to lead him out of the room.  
  
By the time Remington was shoved abruptly into Laura’s cell, he was chilled and not just a little frightened.  He had an idea of how O’Callaghan was setting him up, but with Laura at the bastard’s mercy, Remington saw little choice but to play along.  Already half-naked and lying on the ragged bed, Laura flirted with the bully boy as he left the room.  “Remington!”  The siren rose from the bed to wrap her arms around his neck, spreading ravenous kisses over his face and throat.  Despite the cold, her lips were warm and lusty.  She purred and slid her hand into his briefs.  “I’ve got something for you, darling.  Come to bed.”  
  
It would take a stronger man than Remington to resist his own wife in full come-hither mode.  He simply could not help responding to her, despite having full knowledge that the drugs were talking, not the Laura he knew and loved.  It didn’t take long until he was stiff as a board.  It never did when it came to her.  He gathered her into his arms and carried her to the pitiful excuse for a bed.  With his foot, he flipped the thin mattress to the floor and laid her on it.  Feverish in her need, Laura frantically pulled at their clothes, and the moment they were free, she straddled him and took him inside her body.  
  
He tried to pace himself, but she was relentless and even violent--biting and scoring her nails across his chest.  In mere moments, she screamed with pleasure while he hung on with every ounce of will he possessed.   _Icy calm, icy calm, icy calm_ , he chanted.  
  
Laura still had hours to go before the mickey wore off, and Remington had to draw on sheer willpower to deal with his drugged wife.  She had no control over her body’s responses or her emotions.  She swung from seductive to demanding and back again, forcing Remington to use all his talent to satisfy her through the night.  Most of the time she was frantic--burning in the wake of the drug.  He used every trick he had ever learned to bring pleasure to her, giving her a few minutes of relief at a time, but it was never long before she needed him again.  Wild and frenetic, she often bit and scored his skin with her nails.  Several times he had to restrain her or risk injury to a vital organ or two.  
  
In the wee hours of the morning, he was beyond exhausted when the drugs began to weaken.  As the painkiller wore off, Laura’s eyes shadowed and her mind played tricks on her.  
  
At last, the mickey unhooked its vicious claws.  Laura rolled away from Remington one last time and instantly slept.  He carefully shifted her to her side because one of the nastier side effects of the drug was a suppressed gag reflex.  If she vomited while her body rejected the chemicals, she could drown in it.  
  
He used her coat to cover her.  The blackened holes dotting the material reminded him of the explosion, so he carefully uncurled her hands to inspect the damage she had done to them.  From the fingertips to the wrists, they were reddened with mostly first degree burns.  But where she had reached inside the broken window to grab the door lock, the first two fingers of her left hand were deeply burned and blistered.  Appalled, he tore two strips from his shirt that he retrieved from the floor and meticulously wrapped the worst of the injuries.  
  
Now he lost the battle to stay awake.  Snuggling in next to his wife, he breathed in the smoky scent from her hair and fell asleep with visions of Laura fighting and screaming through his nightmares.  
  
He guessed it was only a couple of hours later when one of O’Callaghan’s men yanked him from her bed, replaced the hood, returned him to his cell and tossed his clothes in after him.  He stumbled to the table to watch the monitor with bleary eyes.  Laura still slept.  Remington pulled the chair near the table so he could watch his wife.  Eventually, he crossed his arms, dropped his chin to his chest and dozed.  Sometime later, he awakened when he heard Laura rustling on the bed.  
  
  
*****  
  
Laura stirred, cold and alone.  She had a horrible headache, and she was lying half-on and half-off the mattress on the floor.  The old wood radiated cold through the thin pad.  It didn’t take her long to realize that she was naked under the coat.  She leaned up on her arm and pulled the cashmere away.  In the sunlight streaming from the window, she could see the evidence of sex and feel it still sticky on her thighs.  Thumb and finger-sized bruises dotted her thighs and arms.  The last time she felt this well-used was after a long night with Remington at the conclusion of a perilous case, with both of them revved by the excitement.  
  
The explosion flashed through her head along with the burnt wallet.  The awful man that dropped it at her feet had told her he was dead.  He wanted information from her but wouldn’t tell her yet what he wanted.  She had a vague memory of a strange man flirting with her.    
  
Her mind spun in shock.  Trembling, she grabbed every piece of clothing she had and dressed, buttoning every single button.  She felt dirty, wanting a shower so badly she shook with the need.  Hunkering down in the corner farthest from the bed and wondering what was next, she rested her chin on her crossed arms.  Her haunted eyes stared into space.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
When Remington looked hard at the screen, he could see a trail of tears on her cheek.  It only took him moments to realize what she thought.   _Dear Lord, Laura--no one touched you but me._  
  
  
 _*****_  
  
  
Over her first cup of coffee later that morning, Mildred flicked open the L.A. Tribune, and her heart broke on the front page:   _P.I. Remington Steele Killed by Irish Car Bomb._  In smaller print below: _Wife_ _Laura Still Missing._  
  
It didn’t take her long to pack her bags for the next flight to Cork which was scheduled to depart late that afternoon.  With a short layover in Paris, she would be in Ireland by tomorrow night.  She called Ian. “Wake up, Connelly.  Time to show your true colors.”  
  
“What?  What’s up?”  
  
“Read the paper this morning?”  
  
“No, uh, hold on, I have it right here.  Holy shit!  Oh crap, not the Steeles!”  
  
“I’m catching the 4:00 p.m. flight out to get to the bottom of this.  I’m sure you’ll have a few thousand phone calls this morning.  Just tell them all that we’ll release a statement once we have more details.  Now get to the office and stay in touch with me.  I’ll stop by there on my way out and leave you my flight information.  I’ll stay at their hotel, so you can reach me there too.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Mildred sped through the city to the office and arrived in record time.  While she scribbled down the information for Ian, she called the answering service for messages.  Mid-way through the list, Ian walked in.  She started to hand the phone over but caught the name "Murphy Michaels."  She wrote down the number and passed the receiver to Ian.  He could handle the rest.  While she dug out the contingency folder with Laura and Remington’s powers of attorney, she dialed the man’s number in Colorado.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Mr. Michaels, this is Mildred Krebs.”  
  
“Oh God, thanks for calling.  What can I do?  
  
“How are you at detective work?”  
  
“I trained with Laura.”  
  
“Good.  Meet me in Cork.  I’m leaving the office shortly, so call me back with your flight information.  Call my private line so you won’t get the service.”  She gave him the number and hung up.  She made one more phone call to the Rothestown Park Hotel.  A few pithy remarks to the frazzled secretary got her through to the equally annoyed hotel manager.  Throughout the day, they had also fielded dozens of phone calls about the bombing, and the local _gardaí_ were pressuring to begin an enquiry.  
  
Mildred presented her credentials to the manager.  “You’ll hold all further investigations until I get there.  Do not tell anyone that I am coming.  I want you to close Steele’s account and re-reserve the suite in my name for the next two weeks, but make sure you leave their keys active.”  She interrupted his sudden babble.  “No, I don’t care who is supposed to arrive on Sunday.  That’s your problem.  And if Mrs. Steele should show up, I expect she’ll have complete privacy even if you have to post a bodyguard outside her door.”  
  
The flustered man sputtered about the local _gardaí_ , but Mildred continued, “I don’t care what the police are doing; I’m in charge here, and you will do what I say.  The Steeles are my responsibility, and you will not make any decisions on their behalf.  I’ll be there by tomorrow evening.  One more thing: when  you’ve made sure that no one else will be in the room, leave a note on the table.”  She rattled off a short message.  “Got it?”  
  
The manager placated her.  “Yes, ma’am.  I’ll personally make it look as if we’re closing the room and cleaning it up.  Then I’ll leave all their personal things and the note in the room for you.”  
  
“That’ll do.”  She slammed down the phone, only to have to pick it up again when Murphy called back.  She wrote down his information.  He planned to catch a flight first thing tomorrow and would be in Cork by Wednesday around mid-morning.  She gave him the name of the hotel and clicked off.  
  
Before she left, Mildred went into Remington’s office and pulled out a paper file that only she and the Steeles knew existed.  It was well-hidden under a fake client’s name and buried deep in the back of a stack of paperwork.  In it, Remington had listed the various jobs he'd accomplished and the people he had come into contact with during the more nefarious part of his life.  The only purpose for this file was to give them some sort of starting point to investigate this kind of event.     
  
  
*****  
  
  
Now Remington began to understand O’Callaghan’s game.  Laura’s brilliant mind would fill in the blanks of the night before, using the information she had.  She had every reason to think he was dead, and she could only assume that one or more men had raped her in that lonely cell.  Her fear was reinforced when one of the bully boys, the one Remington now recognized as being dressed as the blond bellhop with themessage, brought her another sack of food.  He watched as the man squatted next to her and ran a finger along her chin.  
  
Remington couldn’t hear what was said, but judging by her ashen face, she believed whatever he was telling her.  The man stroked one hand through her hair, laughing when she flinched.  Mentally, Remington gut-punched him, then used his favorite carving knife to slit the man’s throat and watch him bleed.  
  
The bellhop brusquely squeezed her breast before strolling out the door.  Her eyes filled with tears. _I’m_  
 _sorry, Laura.  I’ll find us a way out.  I’m so damned sorry._  Remington watched her break.  She stared   
blankly at the ceiling, pressing a hand to her heart, and then she ran a hand through her hair and across   
her chest to wipe away the other man’s touch.  He saw her curl up into a tight ball against the stones and   
slam her hand into the stone wall over and over again--covering it in bloody streaks.  She said only one   
word, and her voice throbbed with stifled tears, “Rei.”  He watched, stunned by the ferocity of her grief.  
  
By the time O’Callaghan returned, Remington paced the floor as he fumed, trying to think of a way out   
of this trap.  The pale man slapped open the door.  His other lackey stood behind him pointing a 9mm at   
Remington.  “Good show, my boy.”  The nasty man clapped him on the shoulder.  I think even I learned   
a thing or two last night.”  He smiled broadly.  “Now I know why the lasses always went for you.”  
  
Dropping all pretenses of "Mick," Remington snapped, “Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”  
  
“Ah, there’s the Remington Steele I’ve been looking forward to meeting.  Quite a scam you’ve got going.  Private investigator.  Must make a fortune in finder’s fees.”  The man chuckled.  He strolled to   
the monitor and tapped on the screen.  “I needed to keep her busy so she doesn’t put her agile little mind   
to use while you do a job for me.  I’ve been studying you two.  She’s good, but she doesn’t quite have   
your nose for a bad situation.  Her smarts and your instincts are quite a team.”  Remington kept silent.  
  
“You I want for a little project.  There aren’t many with your touch, and quite frankly, I couldn’t think   
of a way to get to you that wouldn’t involve her dogging my heels trying to find you.  Now she thinks   
you’re dead, and she’s been treated like a whore; it will be a while before she pulls herself together.  Not   
only that, I think you’re more than just a little attached to her.  She’ll make a handy guarantee while you   
do a the job for me.”  
  
Remington’s rage exploded again at the epitaph for his wife, but he kept his face clear as he listened.    
“What do you want me to do?”  
  
“We’ll talk tonight.  After I make sure your wife won’t be going anywhere for a while.  She’s too bloody   
smart for my tastes and I can’t take any chances.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Remington shot back.  But the man didn’t answer.  He and his bodyguard walked   
out the door.  Remington slammed his fist into the wood behind them, feeling like a rat in a cage.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Laura paced the room, trying to keep warm.  She shivered and swallowed tears while her mind circled   
from Remington to rage and back to him again.  His death was becoming a reality to her, leaving a yawing emptiness in her heart that hurt beyond any pain she’d ever experienced.  Terrified of giving into it, she tried to think past it by focusing on the events of the previous few weeks.  She attempted to identify something, anything at all, that would give a clue as to why they were someone’s targets.  Not for one minute did she believe that all this was just an accident.  Her fingers throbbed terribly, but she blocked them out as she tried to concentrate.   _What information did they want?  What do they know about Remington, and what do they want with me?_  
  
Failing that endeavor, she surveyed the room in detail.  In the late afternoon, the sun blazed through the   
single window.  She blushed shamefully when she noticed the mounted camera.  It was mortifying to   
know that others had watched her humiliation.  The only thing she could think of to do was to stare   
defiantly into the lens, hoping to intimidate the person on the other side.  
  
Remington smiled ever so slightly when he saw that insolent look.  They hadn’t defeated her yet.  He   
smiled more when she disappeared from view.  
  
Laura stepped under the camera so as not to be seen by it, putting her right in front of the heavy door.    
Picking the old iron lock held a real possibility for escape, but it wasn’t the only one.  She could climb the   
stone walls, and the window made for a handy exit.  Feeling around her coat, she fingered the picks and   
the small knife; it was comforting knowing that Remington’s last gift to her could be her ticket to   
freedom.   _Damn it_ , she had to stop that thought or she would cry.  Laura hated to cry.  
  
The snick of the lock warned her that someone was coming in.  Frightened, she backed against the   
opposite wall, putting the bed between her and the door.  O’Callaghan’s two thugs, the bellhop and the   
bully, stalked into the room.  One of them quietly shut the door behind them.  “What do you want?    
Where are we?” she sputtered.  But the men shook their heads at her, refusing to answer.  Laura   
clutched her coat when one of them ordered her to lose it.  Terrified of being raped again, she shook her   
head and blocked their initial attempts to grab her.  
  
The brutes changed tactics and worked as a team to get the coat off her.  The bellhop produced a knife   
and sliced away the buttons while the bully pinned her arms back.  Laura kicked and twisted to shake   
them off, but when she landed a decent kick on the bellhop, he stunned her with a fist to the face.    
Dazed by the broken nose, it took only moments then for the two men to strip the covering from her.  
  
But they didn’t rape her as she feared.  They beat her instead.  
  
To a stranger, it might have seemed that Remington impassively watched the horrifying scene.  Someone   
who intimately knew him would take in the clenched jaw, the ice cold eyes and the faint sheen of sweat   
on his brow.  He was nearly incoherent with rage but remained absolutely motionless while he kept his   
eyes on the screen.  His tiny wife tried to deflect the raining blows and even managed to land a solid kick   
or two, but the bellhop got a good grip on her arms while the other man struck her head, chest and   
stomach with his boots and fists.  She screamed when he connected his foot hard with the once-injured   
knee.  
  
Unable to support her own weight, she sagged against the bellhop, and he dropped her to the ground.    
Surprisingly, she still had the presence of mind or the automatic instinct--Remington was never sure   
which--to curl into a ball to protect herself.  The tormentors still landed blows on her back and legs, but   
when one of those kicks connected with her temple, she quit fighting to lie limply on the cold floor.  
  
Remington was stunned by the attack.  What kind of monster was O’Callaghan?  While he had heard of   
the Six and their harassment, he hadn’t picked up on anything like this--and he had a fair number of   
contacts.  Helpless and enraged, he pounded his fist into the stone wall until it, too, came away bloody.    
The pain was minor compared to the anguish tearing through his heart.  
  
  
 _Is she dead?_  
  
 _No, not even close.  My boys know what they’re doing.  Do you want the doc yet?_  
  
 _That depends on Steele_.  
  
  
O’Callaghan tapped his gun against the little window in the door.  Remington whirled and nearly sent his   
fist through the glass before pulling himself together.  He had to keep his wits about him and figure out   
something, anything, about the situation.  Right now he had zero answers and a wife, possibly dying,   
somewhere in this ancient castle.  O’Callaghan and the guard watched Remington warily while they came   
into the room.  Both were armed and kept their weapons trained on him.  Like gunslingers in the   
American Old West, O’Callaghan and Remington faced each other without a word, waiting for the other   
to make a move.    
  
The other man broke the silence first.  “Come.”  He sounded as if he were ordering a dog.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“To see your wife.”  
  
They blindfolded him again, but it made little difference.  This second trip merely confirmed the route he'd memorized the first time.  He was sure they were taking extra twists and turns to confuse him, but it didn’t matter. He could find her.  
  
“You’ve got five minutes,” he was told.  They shoved him into the cell and slammed the door shut again.  
  
Remington ripped off the cloth covering his eyes and knelt by Laura, sliding two fingers to her throat.  He shuddered in relief when he felt her pulse steadily beating.  For a moment, he could only lean over her and press his cheek to hers.  “Bloody hell, Laura, what have they done?”  
  
Conscious of the time, he began methodically searching out her injuries, starting with her head.  He brushed her hair away from her bloody face, in the process finding large lumps on her skull and a mark on her temple that would surely bruise terribly.  He checked her eyes.  Their uneven dilation confirmed a concussion.  Blood still trickled from her broken nose, a cut on her cheek and out of the corner of her mouth.  Remington used the blindfold fabric to wipe away what he could.  Taking a deep breath, he braced himself before snapping her nose back in place.  She flinched, but her eyes stayed closed.    
  
Lifting her sweater, he tried to ignore all the marks that would surely be bruises by morning.  Instead, he ripped off his own shirt and undershirt, replacing the former and tearing out more strips from the latter to wrap around her middle.  He pulled it tightly to support the bones as much as possible just in case they were broken.  There was nothing he could do about internal bleeding except to hope there wasn’t any.  He didn’t place much faith in that, but he mumbled a quick prayer under his breath.  
  
He shifted her shirt and sweater back into place before loosening her pants.  Enormous red marks dotted her thighs, and her knee was already swelling terribly.   _Not again.  Oh, Laura._  Remington used the last of his undershirt to wrap it securely.  
  
Remington realized now that Laura had been very methodically beaten.  For what purpose, he didn’t know, but she would recover.  He had been worked over once or twice like this.  If the men really wanted to incapacitate her, there would have been broken bones and cudgels or knives involved.   _What_ _bloody fucking game is O’Callaghan playing?_  
  
When he replaced her corduroy slacks, he covered her with the coat and placed her on the bed, kissing her tenderly on the forehead and her lips.  “I love you, Laura.  I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this, but I promise you, we will.”  He left her after pressing one last kiss to her unmarked cheek.  He walked to the door, glancing at the camera mounted above it.  
  
A noise from the bed alerted him that Laura was beginning to stir.  Glancing back, he realized what they had to do.  Thinking and acting at lightning speed, he shimmied up the stone wall to the right of the door.  He ripped out the camera, leaving it dangling from a single wire.  Dashing back to Laura, he leaned over and whispered softly, “Time to leave, love.”  He reached inside her coat to retrieve an item he knew shewould need and placed it carefully in her hand.  Casually, he crossed to the door and rapped on it.  _Laura, I’m counting on you._  
  
The lackeys led him to another part of the castle where food and drink lay on a broad oak table.  Motioning him to sit, O’Callaghan forked up a bit of his own food.  Remington took small bites despite the fact he was ravenous.  “Eat.  The food’s not drugged.  Nor is the drink.”  He took a long sip of his wine.  “It’s time for us to talk.”  Remington arched that elegant brow, still not speaking.  
  
“Now that you know what I will do to your wife without provocation, you’ll understand what I will do if you fail to execute this little job I have for you,” O’Callaghan said.  
  
“Indeed.”  Remington shivered inside.   _Come on, Laura, wake up!_  “What do you have in mind?”  
  
“A very special diamond.  Your particular talents come to mind.”  
  
“And where is this diamond?”  
  
“Éire Tower, Dublin.  There’s a jewelry broker there.  Name’s Rory Malone.”  
  
Remington nodded.  “I know him.”  
  
“Yes, your ... ” he paused, “association with him is legendary.  You’re quite arrogant, you know.  Not ten people in this bloody hemisphere would know you and your wife are wearing a matched trio of red diamonds in your wedding bands.  Maybe two of them know where you got them.”  
  
“Is that what you want?  Our rings?”  Remington moved to yank it off.  
  
“No, I’m not stupid.  I’m sure you’ve marked them so that they’ll be hell to move, even on the black market.  Besides, they’re still too small to be of use to me, matched though they are.”  The man stuffed another bite into his mouth.  “Malone’s got a rough diamond that he won at auction a few years back.  He’s sitting on it, waiting for the economy to improve.  Word is a good jeweler could cut a solid two carets out of it.  It’s pure red, not a purple or a pink, so no one wants to touch it.”  
  
“It’d be worth a bloody fortune.  Cut, it’ll fetch upwards of two million, maybe more if the color’s pure throughout.”  
  
“You do know your gems.”  
  
Remington leaned back in his chair, trying not to think of Laura lying in a cold, dark room somewhere in this ancient place.  “Got a buyer?  You can’t sell it at auction without provenance.”  
  
“Won’t need it.  That’s the second part of our little project.”  
  
“What do you have in mind?”  Remington acted friendly, eating small bites and hoping for more tidbits to this puzzle.  
  
“Later.  For now, I want the diamond in two weeks.  That should give you time to pull this off.”  
  
“Fourteen bloody days.  I’ve spent months planning something like this.”  
  
“Yes, but your wife’s life wasn’t on the line, was it.”  
  
Remington clenched his fist, deliberately letting his anger show.  “There are things I’ll need.”  
  
“Make a list.  Have it ready in an hour, and I’ll get them for you.”    
  
He took his time.  It took a lot longer than an hour.   _Hurry, Laura, I’ll stall as long as I can._  
  
  
*****  
  
  
She had a dream that Remington was leaning over her whispering, “Time to leave, love.”  She didn’t really believe in ghosts, but she swore she could feel his hands soothing her pains and his lips pressing lightly on hers.  She brought up her hand to touch her sore nose, but something snagged on the fabric of the coat tucked in around her. Turning her hand over, she found her lockpick tucked into her wedding ring.  
  
Every part of her body screamed as she tried to sit up on the uncomfortable cot.  Twice she tried to push herself up and failed.  The third time, she settled for rolling off the mattress to get her feet under her.  Her injured knee nearly gave out when she stood in the heeled boots, and she barely caught herself on the bed to keep from falling over.  
  
The pain in her head exploded, and Laura had to pant through her mouth until it ebbed a tiny fraction.  She winced at the double images she saw when she opened her eyes.  Concussion.  She almost fell back on the cot, but Remington’s words echoed in her head, forcing her to move in spite of the excruciating pain.  She touched her ribs and felt a makeshift bandage holding them in place.  Not understanding and quite past caring, she focused only on staying on her feet and pulling the coat around her throbbing body.  She fumbled for Remington’s wallet that lay on the thin mattress and jammed it into her coat pocket.  
  
She made herself limp to the wall directly under the window.  Glancing behind her, she noticed the broken camera and smiled slightly.   _Thank you, love, wherever you are._ Then she looked up.   _This is_ _going to hurt._  Laura’s slow and meticulous climb up the wall caused her burned hands to shriek in protest.  Her knee yelled just as loudly each time she placed her weight on it, but she ignored them all while she ascended.  The castle’s window ledge was wide enough to stand on and the window itself tall enough that she could slide through the narrow slit.  Balancing on the window sill, it took her three long minutes to pick the lock with her right hand.  The hinges were stiff with age and squeaked a bit when shepushed at the pane, but it swung open.   _Freedom_.  
  
What Laura didn’t count on was being three stories off the ground.  If she wasn’t in such a precarious position, she might have admired the view.  In the evening sun, she could see the castle was sitting in the middle of a rolling meadow and shadowed by a low hill.  A pretty stream burbled not too far away.  She could see several roads crisscrossing the countryside.  A thin layer of frost coated everything in sight and made for a postcard-perfect picture.  
  
 _Time to leave, love_ , Remington’s voice echoed in her head.  Past advice from him came to mind, and as she balanced carefully, she closed the window.  Someone would have to look closely now to see that it was unlocked, perhaps buying her a little time.  
  
She dug in her coat pockets and found her leather gloves stuffed in one of them.  It took longer than she liked to work them over her tender fingers, but she would need the protection for her descent.  With scrupulous care, she turned and began searching for footholds in the stonework.  
  
Laura closed her eyes.  Once more, she relied on the skills her husband had passed on to her to break free of this nightmare.  He had taught her to rely only on her sense of touch while climbing.  He had started by blindfolding her at the local gym’s climbing wall.  She "graduated" when she’d climbed down and then scaled the wall of their apartment building with her eyes covered the same way.  Slipping over their penthouse terrace that night, she discovered Remington had set up a table for two with champagne and dinner waiting.  His only requirement before teaching her was his insistence on a safety harness while she practiced, and he had released it with much celebration.  
  
Tonight, without a harness or a blindfold, Laura first scuffed the toes of her boots against the stones to rough up the tips for more leverage.  She began her descent, concentrating only on finding the next tiny indention or ridge that would hold her weight as she worked her way down the castle facing.  The stones were icy cold, and the boots she wore were way down on the list of appropriate footwear for escaping the clutches of an evil brute.  
  
As the sun dropped below the horizon, her feet touched the ground and her knee throbbed terribly.  Saying a small prayer of thanks, to either God or Remington--she wasn’t sure which--she began stumbling over the frosty meadow and headed for the tiny stream.  She hoped her tracks wouldn’t be seen in the darkness.  
  
*****  
  
It was late when Remington gave O’Callaghan the list of information and tools he would need to pull off the heist.  He added a few things that were sure to be expensive and a pain in the ass to find just to be difficult.  The portly man grumbled over parts of the extensive inventory and nodded at the others.  He handed the sheet to one of the two men standing behind him.  “Get some sleep,” he muttered, “we’ll get all this tomorrow.”  
  
 _Time to play it my way, O’Callaghan_.  “Not in that hellhole again.  And I want to move my wife somewhere warm and get her a doctor.”  
  
O’Callaghan gave him a nasty glare.  “Making demands are you?”  
  
“If Laura dies, you get nothing.  You need me to get this diamond.  I need to know she’s alive.  I think  it’s a reasonable trade.”  The older man nodded and mumbled something to one of the men with him.  The guard left, apparently to make arrangements.  Remington picked up his wine and stared into the fire warming the room.  One more for good measure.  “I want to see her once she’s moved,” he demanded, seemingly out of the blue.  “I want to know you made good.”  
  
But before O’Callaghan could answer, the guard hurriedly returned and whispered in the man’s ear.  Remington watched closely as the heavy man jerked before schooling his expression.  “No.  You’ll have to wait until morning to see her.  I’ll get her moved.  Now get out.”  
  
Frowning, Remington allowed the guard to escort him out the door.  Looking back, he saw O’Callaghan and another man rushing the opposite way down the corridor.  He was led down the hall and into a small bedroom warmed by a decent fire.  He crawled onto the bed and pretended to sleep as the guard locked him in.  He concentrated on keeping a triumphant smile off his face.   _My turn, love.  It won’t be long_ _now._

 

 

 


	12. Hope

He waited a bare thirty minutes before retrieving the tiny oil vial and his lockpicks from his jacket.  Oil on the hinges kept the old door from squeaking, and in absolute silence, he slipped the lock open.  A hardcover book left in the room made a handy cudgel to silence the lone guard.  Remington pocketed the man’s gun and dragged him into the room.  He made short work of tying him to the bed with strips of sheets and a quick twitch of the bedcovers made it look as if the man was sleeping.  
  
Locking the door behind him, Remington began his exploration of the castle.  He retraced his steps to Laura but found the corridor stuffed with people.  He could hear O’Callaghan’s rants bouncing off the stone walls.  From the few words he could make out, it appeared she had escaped from the cell.   _Good_ _girl._  
  
It took another twenty minutes before he found what looked to be O’Callaghan’s office, but it took just a scant few moments more to locate the tapes of Laura’s cell, which he pocketed.  His small flashlight danced over the computer and desk as he looked for anything that might compromise O’Callaghan.  He settled on tucking every computer disk he could find into a trash bag stolen from the nearest can, along with the Filofax.  Thanks to Mildred’s expertise, he thought to throw in the stack of bank records and other financial papers he found locked in a file drawer.  He hoped it would be enough to hang the bastard.  
  
In front of the castle, he found a handy selection of cars, one of which he hotwired, and sped toward Cork.  Naturally, he drove the wrong way and had to make a quick U-turn at the next village, but he lost little time getting to the city.  He watched the roads for Laura but knew if she had an ounce of sense, she would stay away from them for a while.  It was risky going back to the hotel, but he needed to be at the one place his wife was sure to look for him.  
  
*****  
  
Full darkness had settled on the frosty land by the time Laura reached the stream.  Walking through the icy water prevented dogs or people from tracking her by scent or print as she trekked to the northwest, but it only took a short time for water to soak through the soft leather and numb her feet.  Eventually, the cold penetrated up to her knee and numbed it too, ironically giving her some relief.  In the end, Laura settled her frozen legs into a kind of shuffle.  She winced to think of the damage she was doing to the joint as she stumbled over rocks and branches.  
  
Somewhere around midnight, she found that the little brook met up with a paved road.  Laura scrabbled up the embankment, slipping and sliding in her sodden boots and entirely unable to feel anything in her legs.  Gaining purchase on the pavement, she stumbled along, hoping to find somewhere, anywhere, to get warm.  She shivered violently.  It was a slow walk made even harder when her knee thawed out, and she could only hobble painfully along in the dark.  
  
In the dim starlight, exhaustion, cold and pain collaborated to dull her senses to a point where she trudged mindlessly along on the side of the road.  
  
*****  
  
Somewhere around one in the morning, Fallon Sweeney sang cheerfully along with the radio on her way home from a long shift at the hospital in Cork.  She liked these night drives into the quiet countryside where her little cottage was tucked into a neat corner of a farmer’s wide field.  She nearly drove off the lane, though, when her headlights flickered on a woman staggering on the edge.  Punching at her brakes, she brought the car to a quick halt.  
  
Despite her ample weight, she popped out of the car and rounded the front just in time to catch the slight figure as she wobbled unsteadily.  In the headlights, Fallon could see deep bruises on the woman’s face and the beginnings of two black shiners.  It took several minutes to convince the obviously terrified girl to get into the car.  “Dear me, girl, what happened to you?”  
  
Laura muttered something about a car accident which Fallon didn’t believe for one minute.  
  
“You’ll need to go to the hospital--no, hush then, if you’ll not do that, you’ll come to me cottage long enough for me to patch you up a bit.”  Fallon continued despite whispered protests.  “I’m a nurse, love, and it’s only a mile or two up the way.”  She tucked an extra blanket from the backseat around the tattered woman.  “What’s your name, lass?”  
  
Laura could feel herself sinking fast.  “Ilsa, Ilsa Blaine.”  
  
Fallon didn’t believe that either as she was quite the fan of Casablanca, but she let the lie stand.  “Stay with me, Ilsa.  We’re almost there.”  
  
Fallon mostly carried the slight woman into the house, for she simply had no reserves left.  The girl was asleep in moments on the small sofa, which spoke volumes on the ordeal she had suffered.  While “Ilsa’s” injuries were not the worse Fallon had ever treated, they were easily the most extensive of any she’d observed on someone still walking in heels.  Quickly, she stripped off the damp clothes and wrapped the woman in dry blankets before building up a blazing fire to heat the room thoroughly.  
  
Kicking off her own serviceable shoes, she tossed several more towels and blankets into the dryer to warm and retrieved the medical kit she had assembled over the years to treat the myriad of neighbors that found their way to her doorstep.  It was futile to deny them, nor would she want to, and she had converted the smallest bedroom of her cottage into a tiny treatment area.  
  
Someone had made a hasty attempt to at least shore up some of the damage to the woman as evidenced by the tightly wrapped strips of white fabric.  Fallon noted the concussion, the broken nose and bruised ribs, the deep contusions all over her body, and, looking closely, the possibility she had been sexually violated.  She rummaged around for the rape kit and had Ilsa swabbed and re-covered without her even knowing.  
  
Moving on, the nurse frowned when she peeled back the finger bandages.  She cleaned the blistered skin thoroughly and treated it with antibiotic ointment before rewrapping the woman’s hands from fingertips to wrist in order to prevent infection.  She finished with giving Ilsa a tetanus shot and inserting an IV of fluids and antibiotics, none of which caused the woman to stir.  
  
Fallon replaced the covers with warm blankets from the dryer and wrapped each of the woman’s feet in heated towels while she readied a footbath for her.  After filling the deep container with warm water, the nurse shifted Ilsa so that her feet rested in the bucket.  Fallon poured herself a cup of tea while the water cooled.  Eventually, she dried off Ilsa’s legs and wrapped them with another coverlet fresh from the dryer.  Tea in hand, the kindly woman settled in to watch her patient sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Remington stashed the car just outside Cork and caught a taxi back to the hotel.  Despite his predilection for not carrying cash, Laura had convinced him after a couple of interesting cases to keep a large bill or two handy on his actual person.  Once again, the advice paid off with money for the cab.  
  
Wary of inside informants, for that’s surely how O’Callaghan had managed to set up the trap, Steele slipped through a side entrance and climbed the stairs to the penthouse level.  Remington locked the door tightly and jammed a chair under the knob.  Without turning on the lights, he quietly placed the bag of evidence inside the door before trailing his sensitive fingertips over every surface in the suite, looking for listening devices.  Under tables, inside lamps, behind curtains, and even inside the cabinets, he searched thoroughly.  He smashed vases and hollow statuettes in case the bugs were hidden inside.  
  
He found two: one in the living room under a side table and one on the top of the doorframe between the bathroom and bedroom.  With a sturdy solid figurine from the coffee table, he pounded them into tiny bits before sweeping the remains into a small bowl.  
  
It was only then that he found the note from Mildred.  “Cavalry’s coming.  Be there Tuesday evening.  Stay put.  Krebs.”  Relieved to have help, but exhausted and anxious about Laura, Remington tumbled into their bed.  Agitated even in his sleep, he searched for her in his dreams.  
  
*****  
  
For the next twenty-four hours, Fallon looked after Ilsa.  The woman slept through the remainder of the night and throughout the next day.  From time to time she stirred, opening bleary eyes that comprehended next to nothing other than warmth and safety.  Once, she staggered to the bathroom with the nurse’s help, but she soon collapsed onto the sofa.  With Fallon’s calm reassurance, she drank broth and swallowed painkillers that persuaded her to sleep again.  
  
*****  
  
Remington sneaked out of the hotel early the next morning and rented a little Fiat from several streets over.  He drove through the verdant countryside, retracing his route as he looked for Laura.  The hazy day made for a long one while he explored every possible side road he found on his map along with any number of others that weren’t.  In each little town, he stopped in the bar or grocery and flashed a picture of her, only to be disappointed time and again at the lack of recognition.  
  
Snow began falling early in the afternoon.  It wasn’t long after that when it began blowing hard enough to make searching useless.  He had to turn back to the hotel and desperately hoped Laura was safe somewhere.  His head hurt terribly as he worried.   _Please be safe, love._  
  
When Mildred failed to arrive that evening, he had to assume her flight was delayed too.  For the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do.  Scared, alone and terrified for Laura, he crept back into his room and lay in the darkness.  Disturbing memories of long ago flashed in his head, and he swore with vehemence while he waited for the oblivion of sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Mildred cursed the weather nine different ways while she paced the terminal in Paris.  A snowstorm had grounded the planes for the night, and for the next several hours, she walked and worried about the Steeles.  
  
*****  
  
Heat radiated from the fireplace through the night and when morning came, Laura reveled in it.  Hoping the past few days were only a terrible dream, she snuggled into the blankets, only to be stopped by the tangle of needles and tubes attached to her forearm.  She struggled to sit up in confusion, but a smiling woman in her mid-fifties with corkscrew curls cautioned her to take care in a sing-song Irish country brogue.     
  
“You’ve had a rough couple of days, lass.  I imagine you’re aching in a place or two.”  That was an understatement.  There wasn’t a place on her that didn’t hurt.  But Laura was determined, and with the older woman’s help, she sat up while her ribs screamed and she panted through the sharp sensations.  
  
“Do you remember me?”  The woman had a wonderfully deep voice that instantly felt comforting and lively.  Vague images of a dark car ride filtered up in her memory and Laura nodded, setting up a dull ache in her head.  “I’m Fallon Sweeney; this is my house and I’m a nurse in Cork.  You needed help and I gave it.  You’ll have it as long as you need.”  Laura’s throat closed over as she remembered the horrible events of the past few days--starting with the fact that Rei was gone.  She clenched her jaw tightly to hold back tears.  She would not cry.  She had to focus on getting her bearings first.  
  
After a minute, Laura scrubbed at her face, forgot she had a broken nose when she bumped it, and winced when she saw stars.  “Oh, that’s bound to hurt.  Give it a minute and breathe slowly.”  Laura’s eyes uncrossed as the nurse looked carefully into them and laid a hand on her forehead.  “There now, still no fever and your eyes are looking better; that'll be a good thing.  Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, and we’ll talk about whatever we need to talk about, hmmm?”  
  
With the brisk efficiency only an experienced nurse can master, Fallon stripped the IV out of Laura’s arm, undressed her and popped her into the tub with orders to soak and not get her hands wet.  Laura examined her own body, wincing at the black bruises spreading across her stomach and thighs.  Her swollen knee throbbed, and the bright red surgery scars stood out against the pale skin.  Her feet were a mass of broken blisters on whitened skin from the frost nip.  She gave a small sigh of relief when she wiggled her toes and found all of them still working.  That was something at least.  
  
The older woman returned with an armload of clothes and deposited them on the counter.  “Don’t try to wash.  It will hurt to raise your arms as sore as you’ll be in the middle.”  So Laura sat while Fallon gently washed her body and hair.  The sweet lady chattered about mundane things to put her mind at ease, but she couldn’t help thinking about the last time Remington bathed with her.  That ended in a short but steamy encounter that left them both gasping.  The accompanying thought that it wasn’t the last time she was touched that way left her feeling quite ashamed.  
  
Laura was in so much pain that Fallon practically had to lift her out of the tub.  The nurse wrapped her in a warm towel, but not before Laura caught a glimpse of her backside in the mirror.  No wonder it hurt to sit with her back and rear covered in darkening marks.  
  
“Mrs. Blaine,” the nurse kept her voice low and calm, “with all these injuries, I know you didn’t have a car accident.  Someone laid his hands on you in a way he shouldn’t.  I think we need pictures for the _gardaí_ , just in case.”  Laura hung her head and nodded.  She knew better than most about the importance of good evidence.  The nurse calmly took pictures of her face, back and front.  She rewound the film and pulled it out of the camera.  “I’ll put this in your purse, lass.”  
  
Laura tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.  Clearing it, she tried again, “I think I was raped.”  
  
“Yes, love, I know.  I’ve got all the evidence we’ll need.  Do you think you can answer a few questions about it?” Hesitantly, Laura nodded.  The nurse helped her dress in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and long shirt.  “Was there any chance you were pregnant before it happened?”  
  
Laura shrugged sadly.  “We just decided not to use birth control.  We agreed on the day ... on Sunday.”  Her scratchy voice made her hard to understand, but the nurse was well-practiced at extracting the information she needed.  
  
“When was your last period, love?”  
  
“A week ago Thursday.”  
  
“Well now, me girl.  Today’s Wednesday, so let’s not count it out of the realm of possibility.”  
  
Confused by the line of questioning, Laura started getting angry.  “Why are you asking all this?”  Her voice was raspy and faint.  
  
“Because if you were raped and couldn’t be pregnant by your husband, I know of ways to prevent a pregnancy, and it’ll have to be done by day’s end.  If there’s any chance any child might belong to you and him, you might not be wanting that option.”  Fallon said this all very matter-of-factly, to give Laura a chance to calm down again.  She patted Laura’s hand.  “Think on it for now.  We’ll get ye fed and give ye a bit o’ something for the pain, then we’ll talk a bit more.”  
  
And that’s what they did.  They had tea and soup while the pain pills did their job.  Or rather, Fallon fed Laura since her bandaged hands made picking up an eating utensil impossible.  When Laura’s eyes cleared a bit and her stomach wasn’t clenching in hunger, she was able to think somewhat clearly.  “Can you take me to Cork?” she asked in a low voice.  “My ... husband and I were staying at the Rothestown Park Hotel.  I’ll need to get my passport to go home.”  
  
“Home to America?”  Laura nodded.  There was no denying her California accent.  
  
“Did your husband do this to you, love?”  
  
“No.  They killed him.”  Fat tears welled in Laura’s eyes, but she dashed them away with the back of her bandaged hand.  Fallon asked her to describe her husband as a niggling of suspicion formed.  “Tall, black hair, blue eyes, and too gorgeous for his own good.”  
  
“What’s his name?”  
  
“Rei--Richard, Richard Blaine.”  Laura rubbed her one unbandaged thumb against the gauze on her fingers and frowned at the feel of it.  
  
Fallon smiled at the appellation from Casablanca.  “How’d ye meet him?”  
  
“Work.  He showed up at the office one day and never left.  That was six years ago.  We just celebrated our second anniversary.”  
  
“Were ye happy?”  
  
Laura smiled sadly.  “Deliriously so.”  She rubbed her thumb against the gauze again.  The fabric was wrong.  “Fallon,” she spoke slowly as she tried to put the problem into words, “what was used for bandages before?”  
  
“Ah, hmmm.  Strips of something.  Don’t know what.”  She cocked her head at Laura.  “Do you want to see them?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
After clearing the dishes, Fallon retrieved the dirty, bloody fabric and placed it on the table.  With the nurse’s help, Laura reassembled the pieces into a semblance of a man’s t-shirt and now she realized why she kept stroking the material.  Remington was terribly picky about fabrics and seams and such.  The shirts he wore under his sweaters had to be silky soft and perfectly tailored.  They also had to be ordered from his favorite shop in London.  
  
 _Is it his ghost?  Or is he still alive?_  Laura stared at the pile in confusion.  “This is his shirt.  They’re special. ... I have to special order them.  How ... ?”   She stumbled over the words before lapsing into a daze.  “I need answers, and I’m not even sure what the questions are.”  
  
With sympathy, Fallon grasped her forearm.  “All right then.  Let’s get you home.”  
  
*****  
  
 _You bloody buggering bastard.  You promised me they couldn’t escape this place.  Not only did they_ _sneak out of here, Steele was sitting in my dining room as a distraction while she flitted out._  
  
 _Goddammit, how was I supposed to know the woman’s related to Spiderman.  Who knew she could_ _climb down three stories of stone wall?_  
  
 _Fuck me, I don’t know.  Then not three hours later, Steele strolls out of here like he lives here.  With_ _my car!  Where the hell are they?_  
  
 _I’m looking.  My boys are looking.  I expect they’ll meet up at the hotel, but my contact hasn’t checked_ _in yet.  I’ve sent someone to watch the place._  
  
 _No Steele, no diamonds, and all this waiting will be for naught._  
  
*****  
  
Fortunately, Fallon kept a small wheeled chair at her house, or Laura would have never made it to the car.  She huddled in misery underneath her coat, the only piece of her own clothing she had bothered keeping.  It was a mere ten minutes into the bumpy drive, and she was already in agony from all the bouncing and jarring about.  Fallon threw quick glances at her ashen face and pulled the car off to the side of the road.  
  
“Ilsa, I’m going to give you a pain pill that will help, but it’s powerful.  You won’t feel much at all, and you can hurt yourself worse that way, thinking you can do more than you should.”  
  
“Will it make me sleepy?”  
  
“You might take a small nap, just from getting away from the pain, but it won’t knock you silly.  Later though, when your energy runs out, you’ll drop like a stone so your body can rest and heal.”  
  
“Sounds perfect.”  While Fallon dug around in her kit in the backseat, Laura burrowed into her coat, trying to keep warm.  
  
Twenty minutes later Laura dozed lightly in the passenger seat.  Fallon eyed the scorched cashmere and nodded to herself.  She had seen the newspapers at the hospital and knew her patient to be none other than Laura Steele, Remington Steele’s wife.  She’d read that both were some sort of famous detectives out of America, and she thought that whoever had done the nasty deed were in for a surprise, for anyone with Mrs. Steele’s gumption would nail those that killed her husband to the wall.  As a nurse, she’d seen plenty of patients who squealed over a broken finger, but then there were those rare birds like Mrs. Steele whose iron-willed determination kept her upright and moving despite her injuries.  Idly, she wondered how Mrs. Steele managed to get almost an hour southwest of Cork and in the middle of the countryside.  She was sure that was a little mystery that Remington Steele’s wife would be unraveling soon.  
  
Fallon woke Laura as they drove into Cork.  By the time the hotel was in view, Laura had gathered her wits together in time to notice the montage of reporters hanging about the entrance, hoping for a word about the Steeles.  “I can’t go in there like this,” Laura muttered.  “Where can we go to get clothes?  And shoes?” she asked the older woman.  
  
Fallon humphed.  “Ilsa lass, what are you up to?  You need to get to bed and rest a bit, not gallivant all over the town, shopping like a tourist.”  
  
“Ms. Sweeney, if I go into the hotel looking like this, every single one of those reporters will know exactly who I am.  There will be questions to answer, and whoever did this to Mr. Steele will know I’m here.  If I dress right, I can walk right by them, and they’ll never even know it’s me.  I can be in bed in fifteen minutes with no one the wiser.”  
  
*****  
  
Mildred’s flight departed Paris early in the morning.  Tired and cranky when she arrived in Cork, she found she had an hour before Murphy’s plane was to arrive as well.  By the time he disembarked, it was mid-morning, and Mildred had already located the bathroom, breakfast and the Irish Times newspaper.  A small article in the front section indicated that the gardaí were stymied in the investigation, and that they still were unable to locate Mrs. Remington Steele.  Mildred handed a wrapped breakfast sandwich to Murphy, and they found a local taxi to take to them to the Rothestown Park Hotel.  
  
*****  
  
In the end, Fallon had to agree with Laura, and she zipped the little car down the way to a sparkling dress shop.  Going in, she held a fistful of travelers checks the detective fished out of a hidden pocket in her coat.  The nurse had a fair eye for fashion and selected a pretty short-sleeved, calf-length red dress and a black hat for Mrs. Steele.  She completed the ensemble with sunglasses, stockings, long gloves, a scarf, somewhat sensible heels and her favorite find, a slimming bodysuit that would provide excellent support for her patient’s injured ribs.  Fallon wasn’t sure Laura’s ribs were actually broken, but she felt sure they were at least cracked and needed good support for proper healing.  
  
Laura sent Fallon back for a splashier pair of shoes and a handbag, but otherwise, the outfit was perfect.  One more stop at a beauty shop yielded cosmetics capable of covering the worst of the bruises on her face, neck and arms.  
  
Mentally thanking the manufacturer of great painkillers, Laura slipped into the thigh-high stockings and dress while Fallon kept watch in a vacant parking lot.  She brushed her hair and applied the heavy pancake makeup before slicking on red lipstick.  Careful highlights and shadows camouflaged the swelling on cheek and chin, and a last layer of powder covered the deep bruise on her temple.  Finishing with the shoes, gloves and scarf, Laura aimed for the aimlessly wealthy look and thought she pulled it off.  
  
She steadied herself by holding onto the car door as Fallon looked her over for any evidence of bandages or bruises.  “How do I look?” she asked the nurse.  
  
“Like a movie star, me girl, like a movie star.”  
  
*****  
  
Drying his hair briskly with the towel, Remington wondered when Mildred would arrive.  He was hungry and cranky but refused to use room service so as not to tip off his presence there.  A fruit and cheese tray and some cold cuts in the fridge managed to tide him over last night, but the veal advertised in the room service menu sounded more succulent and tasty every time he thought about it.  He hesitated at shaving and then decided the three days’ growth disguised him somewhat and left it alone.  
  
When his pacing annoyed even himself, he decided he could wait in the hotel bar as well as he could hide in his room.  Just in case, he scribbled a note to Mildred.  He donned a white fedora and black sunglasses for a simple disguise and left the room the way he came.  
  
*****  
  
“What do you want me to do?”  Still in the parking lot, Fallon’s eyes fairly danced at the excitement though she worried about Laura’s knee in those heels.  
  
“I’ll flag a taxi to the hotel.  You follow and come in right behind me.  If necessary, I’ll stall long enough for you to catch up.  I’ll walk straight to the elevator and wait for you to get in with me.  I’m assuming they haven’t closed us out of the suite yet, but if they did, we’ll go straight back to your car.”    
  
Laura was quiet as she thought it through one more time.  “Do you mind carrying my coat?  I would rather not lose it as it was a gift from Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Of course not.  Just promise me you’ll not run in those shoes.  You’re hurting your knee even as we speak.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  Laura leaned over to give the woman a kiss on the cheek.  “Thank you for everything, Ms. Sweeney.  I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”  
  
Fallon blushed through her freckles.  “Ah, sure ye would.  But maybe you wouldn’t be so pretty when you got here.”  The two women shared a grin.  
  
“Ready?” Laura asked Fallon.  
  
But things never go quite as planned.  
  
*****  
  
By eleven-thirty in the morning, Remington nursed a glass of gin and tonic in the quiet hotel bar after a decent, if early, lunch.  A slim cigar smoldered in the ashtray.  He rarely smoked anymore, only indulging whenever a disguise called for it or in times of extreme stress.  The latter certainly qualified today.  Like a racehorse behind the starting gate, he strained at the bit to get out and look for his wife again as soon as Mildred arrived.  
  
From the recesses of the elegant bar, dark with its hand-scraped walnut floors and paneling, he kept a discrete eye out for his surrogate mother.  At the moment, Mildred was his lifeline as he hung by the proverbial thread.  With no one else to trust, he brooded into his glass and concentrated on looking slightly disreputable.  
  
*****  
  
Mildred and Murphy’s taxi dumped them out into the middle of the reporters, and they had to fight their way through the milling bunch to check in at the front desk.  
  
A woman arrived moments later, simple and stunning in red, with her hat angled down and the sunglasses covering the rest of her face, the crowd parted.  She tucked her black clutch beneath her gloved elbow and strolled through, ignoring them entirely.    
  
Murphy let out a soft whistle under his breath, and Mildred elbowed him firmly.  
  
Suddenly, the woman paused mid-stride, staring into the bar.  A wide bank of windows backlit a man in a   
fedora with the brim tipped low.  He brought a cigar to his lips and put it down.   
   
“Huh, someone’s got her attention,” Mildred commented as she stashed her room key in her purse.  
  
“Hope he’s worth her while.  She’s a stunner.”  
  
“You’re wife would lock you in the closet for a month if she heard you.”  
  
He flinched from Mildred’s elbow.  “Yep.  And that would be okay.”  Suddenly, he recognized the way she moved.  He waved his hand toward the glamorous woman.  “Doesn’t she strike you as familiar?"  
  
“Her?  Oh my, is that--”  Murphy stopped her with a hand to her lips, and they watched the scene play out from across the lobby.  
  
*****  
  
Concerned about her sudden stop and wondering about her knee, Fallon called out softly, “Ilsa ... Ilsa, are you okay?”  
  
The man’s head snapped up.  
  
“Ms. Blaine?” Fallon asked again.  
  
Sharing a stare with the man, "Ilsa" shushed the woman softly.  “I’m okay.  Give me a minute.”  She sauntered to the man’s table, stopping only to beg a cigarette from a portly business man whose heart floundered and fell at her feet in his haste to grant her wish.  
  
Under the edge of his brim, he watched her flirt with a local patron and come away with a cigarette in her hand.  Light on her feet, she swayed to his table in a sensual strut.  He knocked back the remaining gin and carefully set the short glass down with a trembling hand.  
  
She waved her cigarette toward him.  “Can a girl trouble you for a light ... Mr. Blaine?”  Her dulcet voice sent shivers through him.  It was a secret game they played time and again--he as Rick Blaine and she as Ilsa Lund in the famous movie Casablanca.    
  
True to form and with his heart soaring, he knocked over his glass as he swept her up in a ravishing kiss.  
  


 

 


	13. Love

The nasty place in her chest where her soul had been ripped out healed over the instant his blue eyes flicked up to meet her shimmering brown ones.  Laura clutched Remington’s shoulders before sliding her arms around his neck as he devoured her lips.  One of his hands cupped the back of her head, and the other wrapped around her slender waist, gripping her painfully.  Hardly audible, Laura whispered, “Oh Rei. ... “  
  
Conscious of their audience, they retreated into their roles before they gave too much away.  Remington offered his arm as he laid money on the table and retrieved his sunglasses from his pocket.  Laura hoped anyone looking on would assume the she was meeting her lover for a clandestine afternoon.  
  
He escorted her to the elevator, acknowledging Mildred and Murphy with a barely discernable nod once he spied them across the lobby.  They fell in behind him while pretending to fuss over their luggage and room keys.  Fallon slipped in at the last moment as if in a great hurry.  
  
*****  
  
 _Sir, Steele’s wife just came into the hotel._  
  
 _How does she look?_  
  
 _Ah, gorgeous.  Red dress and heels._  
  
 _I meant does she seem hurt or upset?_  
  
 _There’s not a mark on her, and she seemed pretty happy.  Especially when she kissed Mr. Steele in the_ _bar._  
  
 _Is she related to Wonder Woman too?  Never mind that.  Where’s Steele now?_  
  
 _They just went upstairs in the elevator._  
  
 _Those two have been doing a lot of slipping past people lately.  Keep an eye on them.  Let me know_ _what they do.  Don’t lose them._  
  
 _Yes, sir._  
  
*****  
  
Silence reigned in the car as it rode up the shaft.  Remington merely rested his chin on Laura’s head lying against his heart.  Her hat dangled from her gloved fingertips.  
  
Eyeing the two of them, Fallon broke the quiet.  “I presume, Mrs. Blaine, that this is Mr. Blaine?”  
  
“Ah, yes, I’m sorry.  Mildred, Murphy, this is Fallon Sweeney.  She’s a nurse; ah, she helped me get here.”  Nods and murmurs of "pleased to meet you" were made all around.    
  
“Fallon, I haven’t told you the truth about who we really are, I--”  
  
The nurse interrupted, “Me lass, I’m a fan of Casablanca as much as the next lady, and I figured out this morning that none other than the lovely Mrs. Laura Steele was on me doorstep.  I’ll assume this handsome Irish lad is the late Mr. Remington Steele, aye?”  The pair smiled and shared a warm look.  
  
“Aye, your description is apt: 'tall, black hair, blue eyes, and too gorgeous for his own good.'  I’d say you know your man well.”  Fallon’s eyes sparkled at the pair’s embarrassment as the doors slipped open.  Murphy checked around the hallway before waving everyone clear, and Mildred dug for her key as shechattered good-naturedly with Fallon about the Irish weather and beautiful countryside.  They entered the suite and began making themselves at home.  
  
The Steeles shared a quiet moment in the empty corridor as the elevator doors closed.  Both of them blinked back tears. Laura clutched Remington’s face and shoulders.  “You are real,” she whispered, stroking a whiskered cheek.  “I thought I was dreaming or that you were a ghost come back to help me.”  She trembled as reality set in.  
  
Remington quirked a wry smile.  “No love, nothing that noble.”  He pulled her close, sliding one hand in her hair as he hugged her.  “Oh God, Laura!” he choked out over the sudden lump in his throat.  “I’ve never been so glad as when I saw you walking to me.”  He captured her lips, trying to avoid her swollen cheek and chin.  She returned his kiss in kind, absorbing his essence to assure her heart he was quite alive and well.  
  
He broke away, muttering, “O’Callaghan’s going to answer for this.”  Once more, he wrapped her in a tight embrace, heedless of her injuries.  They stayed that way for a long moment.  Then he dropped a light kiss on her lips before placing a hand on the small of her back as they turned to the room.  
  
Laura winced at the first step.  Her knee finally protested the shoes and the general abuse of walking.  “Good Lord, Laura, are we back to this?”  Remington referred to her first leg injury as he swung her up in his arms and carried her through the doorway.  Her skirt rode up, revealing the Ace bandage on her knee with blackened bruises spilling out either side.  
  
“Heavens, Mrs. Steele, what happened to you?” Mildred asked as she opened the door for the couple.  Laura did not answer.  Instead, she leaned her head against Remington, giving in to the dizziness she had been holding at bay.  
  
“Much, I’m afraid,” he replied for her.  
  
Fallon spoke up, “On the bed, Mr. Steele, if you don’t mind.  She’s in worse shape than she’s letting on.  I’ll get me things and be there in a moment.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
*****  
  
Once on the bed, Remington slipped off Laura’s sunglasses to see the black and blue bruises shadowing her eyes.  He, like Fallon several hours before, stared into their depths with a carefully blank expression.  They were glazed, either from shock or pain, he wasn’t sure, but they were somewhat clearer than the last time he saw them.  Laura eased out of her dress and gloves with his help.  Clad only in the bodyshaper and hosiery, he arched a comical eyebrow at her, trying to keep his attitude lighthearted.  “Laura, my darling, you’ll have to save that deadly contraption for a day when you feel like seducing me with it.  You know what stockings do to me, hmm?”  
  
Before he could upzip the corset though, Laura stopped him.  “How do you know?”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“You know about my knee and my face, and--everything.”  She waved in the general direction of her body.  
  
Clenching his jaw tight, he spoke slowly, “Because Laura, they made me watch while ... while they did this to you.”  
  
“You saw me?  How ... how much did you see?”  Her eyes were fearful now and huge with dread.  
  
“Everything, Laura, from the time the car exploded until you escaped.”  
  
“Then you know,” her face crumpled, “what they did to me.”  Her hands flew to her cheeks.  Then she shoved at Remington while stumble-hopping to the bathroom and locking the door behind her.  
  
“Laura!  Laura!”  He could hear her hysterically crying on the other side of the door.  He started to pound a fist on the door, thought the better of it and flexed his hand before dropping it to his side.  
  
*****  
  
Mildred and Murphy froze in the living area at the sounds coming out of the bedroom.  But from the doorway, Fallon gave a little sound of relief.  “Good, she’s been holding all that inside.  She’ll get it all out and be the better for it.  ‘Tis the truth that’s the first time she’s spilled a tear since I picked her up offthe road after midnight two nights ago.  If it were me in her shoes, I’d be crying buckets long before now.”  She walked into the bedroom and patted Remington on the shoulder.  “Give her a few minutes to fuss and go make your peace.  And try to remember that until a few minutes ago, she thought you were dead.”  
  
Fallon left him leaning against the door.  She found Mildred and Murphy making worried small talk in the kitchen.  “Hello, my name is Fallon Sweeney, and I’m a nurse out o’ the hospital here in Cork.  I picked up Mrs. Steele on Monday night on the side of the road on my way home from me shift.”  
  
Murphy blew out a snort and shook her proffered hand.  “Well, that covers the basics.”  He smiled for the first time in three days.  “Murphy Michaels, former associate of Laura’s and here to help get to the bottom of all this.”  
  
“Mildred Krebs, current associate of the Steeles and here to help these two as well.  Now, what can we do for them?”  
  
Fallon decided she liked the pair.  They seemed to have the same no-nonsense attitude about life.  “For starters, why don’t you two get some lunch and a nap as Murphy tells me you’ve had a long flight?  I’ll check in on Mrs. Steele in a bit before I go in to work.  I’m on second shift now, and I have a trio ofhours yet before I need to go.”  
  
Shrewdly, Mildred eyed the nurse.  “But I bet you’ve been up all night too.  You can eat with us and catch an hour’s sleep before you go in.  We’ll sleep in shifts to catch up.”  
  
“I’m a nurse; I nap when I can, and I dozed a bit last night.  But I’ll take you up on your generous offer and be the better for it.”  Mildred nodded and made herself busy ordering lunch for everyone.    
  
While Murphy settled their luggage into the suite and claimed the sofa for himself, Fallon began picking through her medical kit for various and sundry items she would need for Mrs. Steele as she gave the reunited couple a bit more time.  
  
*****  
  
Impatiently, Remington waited as Laura calmed.  In reality, it only took a couple of minutes, but having had his fill of feeling helpless these past three days, he slipped open the catch on the lock with a toothpick to find Laura sitting on the toilet, clutching her middle with one hand and covering her eyes with theother.  Her hair hung in lank waves, hiding her face from him.  
  
Trying hard for a light tone, he mocked her gently, “Now, Laura, if you want to lock me out, you’ll have to find something a bit more substantial than that pitiful excuse for a door knob.  I mean really, love, it’s practically an insult.”  
  
Laura softly snorted under the cover of her hand.  He hunkered down in front of her.  “Laura, I promise what happened in that room is not quite what you think.”  He tipped up her chin to look into her wet brown eyes.  “Will you trust me for a few minutes longer while Ms. Sweeney looks you over?  Whenyou’re settled, I will tell you what happened, and we’ll deal with it together.  All right, love?”  
  
Laura hesitated, then nodded.   
  
“Good, let’s get you to the bed.  I know you’re tender, and this toilet just doesn’t seem like a good place to relax.”  He gathered her in his arms.  “I’m going to have to start working out again.”  He hefted her with a comical groan, and she chuckled weakly.  
  
Fallon poked and prodded Laura before rewrapping her sore ribcage and propping up the knee with ample pillows and an ice pack.  The nurse put Remington in charge of carefully peeling the bloody stockings away from Laura’s damaged feet while she finished her examination.  He sat cross-legged onthe foot of the bed, smoothing ointment on the raw blisters before wrapping them gently in gauze.    
  
“You’re going to be hurting something awful these next few days, but most o’ this will heal.  I think you’ll need to see a surgeon about that knee.  You’re not to be walking on it until I can bring ye one.”  Fallon glanced up at Remington.  “I’m assuming, o’ course, that ye won’t let her leave ‘til ye know it’ssafe?”  He nodded.  “Good.  Then I’ll give ye what I’ve got to help with the sores and bruises for now, and I’ll bring a doctor with me in the morning and something a bit stronger for the pain if ye need.  That’ll give time for the swelling to go down, and he can take a better look.”    
  
Fallon sat on the edge of the bed with Laura, buttoning her into a thin pajama top.  “Mrs. Steele, this morning we talked about taking certain precautions, if ye like.  Now that ye know your husband’s safe and sound, what do ye want to do?”  
  
Laura hesitated while Remington looked up quizzically.  “What precautions are we talking about?" he asked.    
  
“Mr. Steele, your wife believes she was raped, and given the bruises and whatnot, I’m inclined to agree.  What I can give her will ensure she’s not with child from the ill-treatment.  If it’s to work for certain though, she has to take these pills today.”  
  
Remington seemed to shrink inside himself, and he clasped his hands in front of him.  His haunted blue eyes met her confused brown ones while he explained.  “Laura, I know what you must have thought when you woke up in that awful cell.  The men that kidnapped you, and me,” he said the latter withemphasis, “gave you a mickey in your water.”  Her eyes reflected her confusion as she listened to her husband.  “I was told it was mixed with a painkiller, and I was given a choice.  Either I could "take care of you" myself or watch a couple of men do it for me.”  
  
He swallowed hard before the next words would come out.  “Laura, I’m not denying that it was rape.  You were incapable of giving consent for what happened.  Never before have I taken advantage of a woman, but I did that night and more than once.  The only consolation I can give you is that I was theonly one who ever touched you.”  He raked his hand through his hair, looking miserable.  
  
Laura looked at him askance.  “You’re telling me that I was drugged?”  He nodded.  It was getting hard for her to think through the pain in her head, and she couldn’t quite understand what he was saying.  She looked at Fallon.  “Does this make sense to you?”  
  
“Aye, I’ve seen it more that I’d care.  Sometimes the boyos give it to the lasses to make them more pliable.  The girls wake feeling ill and knowing something’s not right without having any idea what happened at all.  Sometimes they find out from friends later that they did things that they would never,ever think of doing in the light of day.”  
  
“Is that what happened to me?” Laura asked Remington.  He nodded.  “Will you tell me about that night?”  
  
“Laura, we had sex--a lot of it.”    
  
But something in his expression disturbed her, and she tried to focus on it.  “What else happened?”  
  
“Not a thing, love.”  
  
“Remington--what else?” she persisted.  
  
But he shook his head and implored, “Laura, can it be enough that I was the only one that touched you in any way?  If you want to take those pills, it’s up to you, but I’ve no misgivings at all that any child you might have would be mine.”  
  
She was tired and confused enough that she didn’t recognize Remington’s clever dodge of her question.  Her energy was sapped, her head hurt, and the aches in her body were beginning to overwhelm her.  
  
Fallon noticed her patient flag abruptly.  “There you go, love, that’s the last of the pain medicine giving out.  Mr. Steele, might I trouble you for a glass of water for your wife, and we’ll see she gets some rest?”  Remington frowned, realizing the nurse was getting him out of the room.  But he left anyway.  
  
“Mrs. Steele, what do ye want to do?”  Wearily, Laura raised her eyes to meet Fallon’s.  She held her gaze for a long moment before giving a tiny negative shake of her head.  “That’ll be fine, love.  Ah, here’s the man himself with your water.”  Fallon picked up one of the bottles of pills she had shown toRemington and shook out a pair of tablets.  “Swallow these and get some sleep.”  Laura did and closed her eyes.  
  
*****  
  
Remington walked the nurse to the bedroom door, where she gave him final instructions.  “When she wakes, have her eat a bit and then make her sleep some more.  I’ll be by tomorrow morning with a doctor, but call me here if you need me before then.”  Fallon handed him a slip of paper with a phone number on it.  
  
Remington leaned in to kiss her cheek.  “A thousand thank yous, Ms. Sweeney.  Laura is my whole world and you restored her to me.  For the rest of your life, if you need anything, anything at all for you and yours, call me and I’ll make it happen.”  
  
Fallon blushed.  “Such charm in man.  Now go on and rest with your wife.  I imagine you’ve had little sleep for yourself.”  
  
Remington looked at his shoes for a second before pinning her with his gaze.  “Did she take the precautions you mentioned?” he asked very quietly.  
  
Fallon cocked her head.  “No.  ‘Tis the measure of the trust she has in you that she takes what ye said on faith alone.”  His shoulders--no--his whole body sagged in relief.  She patted him on the cheek and left without another word.  
  
Remington closed the door behind her and stripped down to his briefs and t-shirt before sliding in next to Laura.  Even in her sleep, she turned her head toward him.  Unable to bring himself to hold her, he contented himself by the fact he could smell her hair and he slept.  
  
*****  
  
Mildred and Murphy took their own catnaps, taking turns so as not to leave the suite unguarded.  Later, Murphy made a fast run to pick up various things they would need for their investigation.  Mildred chortled when she saw the boxes he stacked inside the door.  She spent a happy afternoon assembling her new computer while Murphy spent time with the _gardaí_ , gathering their reports.  He kept mum about the Steeles' whereabouts.  
  
*****  
  
Late in the afternoon, Remington stirred when he felt the rhythm of Laura’s breathing change.  She sobbed his name and then whimpered in terror.  He soothed her, whispering and comforting the fears away.  “Shhhh, love.  I’m here.  I’m not ever going to leave you.”  She turned to wrap her arms aroundhim, but gasped when various parts of her body protested.  
  
Laura opened her brown eyes to gaze into Remington’s blue ones.  “Hello, love,” he whispered.  
  
“Hi.”  There was a long silence while they took in the past seventy-odd hours, the losing and the finding.  “Can you tell me what’s going on?”  Laura’s voice was still thick from the painkillers.  
  
“Ah, there’s my lovely Laura again.  I can always tell when you’re feeling better because your brain starts firing on all cylinders.”  Remington's expression lightened.     
  
“I love you,” she said, thoroughly distracted by his deep blue eyes.  
  
“I’ll always love you, Laura.”  
  
A soft knock on the door interrupted them.  “Kids?”  
  
“Yes, Mildred,” they said in unison.  Ever so slightly, Laura rolled her eyes as Remington grimaced.  
  
“Dinner’s here if you feel up to eating.”  
  
“Excellent, Mildred, we’ll be there in a moment,” he called.  
  
“Sure thing, Chief.”  Mildred was thrilled to think they both must be feeling better.  
  
“How are you feeling?  Any pain?”  Remington slipped on a pair of deep blue silk pajama pants before he lifted Laura from the bed.  
  
She tried to put her arm around his neck but couldn’t make them work.  “Some.  My face hurts--well, really, it all hurts.  But it’s bearable at the moment.  Will you help me get this makeup off my face?  It feels like glue.”  Some of her words slurred together, a result of the heavy-duty pain medications Fallongave her.  He set her on the counter in the bathroom.  With gentle hands, he washed away the heavy cosmetics and retaped her broken nose.  “Fallon said my nose had already been reset.  Was that you?”  
  
“Mmm, yes.  Ah, they let me see you for a few minutes and since you were out cold, I popped it back in place.”  
  
“Should I try to guess where you learned that?” she said slowly.  
  
“It’s interesting the bits of knowledge one can pick up on the streets of London.  When a couple of your fellows have a donnybrook, it comes in handy to know a thing or two about patching a body up.”  
  
“And I’m sure you can wrap a knee by now.  If you hadn’t, I don’t think I could have climbed the wall.”  
  
“Perhaps.  All set now?”  He wrapped his dressing gown around her, loosely tying the belt.  
  
“I think so.”  As Remington lifted Laura from the counter, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.  She was mortified to be seen this way and buried her face in her husband’s t-shirt.  
  
“Love, it will be okay.  I promise.  We’re all friends here and no one else will see you.”  
  
“But I look awful!” she moaned, “I look like a ... a mutant of some kind.”  Remington chuckled as he carried her through the bedroom and into the main area of the suite where Mildred and Murphy were setting food on the table.  “I can’t even punch you ‘cause I’m wrapped up like a mummy,” she muttered.  
  
“Perhaps that’s for the best, then.”  
  
“Mildred, Murphy--what are you doing here?”  She had forgotten they were in the elevator earlier.  
  
Neither one was prepared for their first good look at the couple.  Remington was unshaven, unkempt and dressed only in an undershirt and lounging pants.  Bloodshot blue eyes accented by dark smudges underneath reflected the horror of the past three days.  In his arms, the sight of a severely beaten Laura was a stark contrast to the femme fatale Mildred and Murphy saw strutting through the lobby.  They both caught the bright glaze in her brown eyes and the slow words.  
  
Mildred spoke first.  “Mrs. Steele, do you really think I wouldn’t come at the drop of a hat when I read about everything in the newspaper.”  
  
“You read about us in the L.A. Tribune?”  Laura furrowed her brow.  
  
“You two are big news, honey, in case you’ve forgotten.”  
  
“I did.  What about you, Murphy?”  
  
He stepped up to the pair and laid a soft kiss on her uninjured cheek.  “I’ve come to help a friend.”  He looked to Remington.  “I am profoundly grateful to not be consoling Laura.  She would be devastated without you.  And you, her, I think.”  He suddenly had an urge to call Kate, and would, later.  
  
“Murphy, my thanks.  And if you’ll grant it, your assistance for the next few days will be invaluable.”  Remington nodded to the other man.  
  
“My time is yours, Steele.”  
  
“Well then, that’s settled.  Let’s eat.  Laura is heavier than she looks.”  He grinned at her slow frown.  
  
The setting sun slanted golden rays through the suite.  The four sat at the mid-century modern dining table with Remington close enough to Laura to keep her balance and feed her.  He started a light conversation with Mildred and Murphy about the flight and weather in Ireland that led to discussions about nearby tourist venues.  
  
Irritated, Laura interrupted.  “Mr. Steele, can the weather wait?  I’d like to know exactly what’s been happening for the past three days.  There’s much that I don’t know.”  
  
Remington ignored her and stuffed a small piece of chicken into her mouth.  He continued his description of Ashford Castle for Murphy.  Each time Laura tried to talk, he fed her another bite or distracted her with a drink of water.  She sat in aggravated silence for several minutes before getting the message thatthere would be no discussion of the awful events until after dinner.  After that, she relaxed somewhat.  Remington, ever sensitive to her moods, flashed a smile at her, lightening her attitude even further.  
  
By the end of the dinner, Laura could feel the last of the pain pills she took earlier in the day wearing off.  Her head ached again; it hurt to sit, and even the smallest amount of movement caused her torso to light up.  She laid her head on Remington’s shoulder, not realizing he was carrying her to the sofa.  
  
“Open up, love.  There you go, and take a drink.”  She complied, resting her head on the pillow.  Minutes later, the aches flowed away, and she drifted off to sleep with Remington stroking her cheek.  For quite some time he stayed that way, sitting on the back of the sofa and brushing his fingers across her face, tangling them in the stray strands of wavy auburn hair.  Outside, stars dappled the night sky as the last rays of the sun ebbed and disappeared.  
  


 

 


	14. Perspective

Murphy finished clearing the table before splashing good scotch into three short glasses.  He handed one to Remington, interrupting the man’s reverie, and placed the other two on the table.  Mildred returned   
from the other bedroom with a sheaf of printouts in one hand and several files in the other.  
  
The three seated themselves around the table.  “Murphy, you should teach the Boss a thing or two about great technology.  Oh, Mr. Steele, Murphy found me the most fabulous computer today.  It just hops   
right along, and I can get it to tell me anything!”  She slid a notepad to each of them with a pen and, in an unusual move, she took charge of the investigation.  “Okay, boys, I’ve got a stack of evidence, but I   
need a story.”  She took a breath.  “Mr. Steele, tell us what happened and don’t be shy with the details.”  
  
Remington lifted his glass, paused, and then swallowed a healthy gulp before setting it down to clutch it with both hands.  “Sunday.  On Sunday, we dressed for dinner and called for the limo.”  In a nearly monotone voice, he recounted the events.  He told of the horror of watching Laura pound on the burning car.  He described the castle where they were held and related the conversations with O’Callaghan.  And then he had to tell them about Laura’s abuse and O’Callaghan’s reasoning for it.  He rose halfway through and poured another glass of scotch before he could recount the last portion.  
  
Mildred took notes despite the sobs she snuffled back.  Hearing the full extent of what the pair endured caused her heart to ache painfully.  She dashed away the tears, promising herself a good cry later.  Right   
now she needed to focus.  
  
Murphy watched Remington’s body language.  Through the recitation, he realized the other man was not giving them every single detail.  If Mildred picked up on it, he couldn’t tell.  She was patiently taking notes in shorthand, not asking any questions at all.  His respect for his brother-in-law rose significantly.    
Despite his obvious emotional distress, Steele gave them explicit names and descriptions, maps he sketched out on the spot and even a timeline of events.  Either Laura had taught him well, or he had an innate sense for details.  Or both.  But Murphy noticed each time he talked about Laura, his hands shook though he tried to hide it by clutching his pen or glass.  Murphy himself had to swallow past an enormous lump in his throat as he listened to Remington’s descriptions.  
  
When he was done, Mildred began drilling him.  She wasn’t yet looking for motivations; she was looking for more facts about the people, locations and events.  She made him go over the story again, point by   
point, until she was satisfied she had every fact that Remington could remember along with a whole list of speculations they would dig through tomorrow.  
  
The entire process took almost three hours, and Mildred could see the stress taking its toll on her boss.  She stacked her files and called it quits.  “That’s enough, Chief.  In the morning, we’ll go over it again when Laura is awake, and then we’ll try to get at the heart of the matter.”  
  
“Perfect, Mildred.  Thank you.”  Distractedly, he nodded at her before rising to check on Laura.  He hardly noticed when she gathered her things and bid Murphy good night.  Laura’s breathing steadied him.  He failed to understand why something so simple could reassure him so much.  He pressed his hand to her face, looking for fever, grateful he found none.  For lack of anything better to do, Remington smoothed another heavy blanket over Laura, conscious of the cold she endured during her ordeal, and then built up a fire in the hearth for good measure.  
  
Rising, he turned to Murphy, who was sitting at the far end of the room at the elegant raised bar in the kitchen.  “My apologies.  I’ll move her to the bedroom and you can get some rest.”  
  
“Leave her.  She’s fine.  I’m not tired yet; I think I’m still on Denver time.”  
  
Remington crossed to Murphy and held out his hand.  “I haven’t properly thanked you for coming.  I appreciate knowing she has you looking after her.”  
  
Murphy gave it a firm shake and clapped him on the shoulder.  “Steele, we haven’t always agreed on much other than that Laura is a special woman.  But I’m thankful you’re still with her.  She loves you.”  
  
“And I her.”  Steele sat down on the other stool.  
  
“I didn’t really think you two would ever work things out, but Mildred said you would both finally come around.  So did Bernice, for that matter.  I’ve got to give you credit; Laura’s pretty stubborn.  I should know.”  The men exchanged wry grins.  
  
“Aye, mate.  But I love her, and she couldn’t wiggle around that, no matter how hard she tried.”  Murphy laughed at that.  “How are Kate and the twins?”  Remington and Laura had seen the tykes just this past Christmas, a few days before their birthday.  
  
“Kate and the boys are perfect.  Thank God for nannies though.  If it wasn’t for that, I would have never made it here.  She would have my head for leaving her with Aiden and Ian and no help.  Even at only a year old, they are little terrors.”  Murphy shook his head.  “How about you two?  Ever thought about kids?  You guys have been married, what, two years now?”  Murphy idly fired questions at Remington.  
  
He took a sip of his drink, causing Murphy to laugh and mock-punch him in the shoulder.  “Not on your radar, huh?”  
  
Steele rubbed his bicep, accidentally pushing up the sleeve to reveal nasty gashes underneath.  “Actually, we talked about it.  Surprisingly enough, we both want a family.”  
  
Distracted by the ragged wounds, Murphy shoved the shirt sleeve up even higher.  He ignored what Remington revealed and demanded, “What the hell happened to you?  Damn it, Steele, I knew there was more.  It’s time to sing, pal.”  Steele ignored him for a moment and tugged his shirt sleeve back down.  He lifted his glass and drank deeply.  By Murphy’s count, this was his third or fourth scotch, and Steele might just be under the influence enough to be honest.  
  
But Steele was more than sober.  He was a master of drinking less than it appeared.  With Laura’s life at stake, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the position of not being able to react to whatever danger might pop up.  “What makes you think there’s more?” he tested Murphy.  “Mildred made me go over it twice.”  
  
“Because while she was writing, I was watching you.  What else happened to Laura?”  
  
Remington swore under his breath.  Sometimes it was annoying having detectives in the family.  He ran his fingers through his hair before answering him.  “Do you remember the part I told you--that they gave her a mickey, and O’Callaghan gave me an ultimatum?”  
  
“Yes.”  Murphy stayed neutral, but his stomach went sour.  
  
“At first, things were fine.  It wasn’t quite the setting I prefer, but despite all that, things were ... fine.”  
  
“You said you made love to her while she was drugged,” Murphy prompted.  
  
Steele snorted.  “If you can call it that.  No, this was pure sex--no emotions, just sex for the pleasure of it.  At that point she seemed to know it was me and took me for a hell of a ride.  She was quite ... aggressive.”  He motioned toward his own shoulder.  “She was that way for hours.  Murph, I’ve made love through the night on a number of occasions, but this?  Bugger me; after the first couple of hours, this was bloody hell.  I was terrified the whole time that if I didn’t stay with her, O’Callaghan would send one of his boys in.  And that wasn’t even the worst of it.”  
  
He was quiet for a long time and Murphy patiently waited him out.  “Toward morning, some part of her brain woke up.  She didn’t think it was me anymore because she thought she saw me die.  She ... didn’t know me at all.  She was afraid of me and fought me.”  Remington clenched his fists in remembrance.  He could barely get the next words out.  “O’Callaghan came into the room and told me to take her once more.  She screamed the whole time.  I raped her, Murphy.  I raped my own wife, my own lovely Laura, in front of a perfect stranger.”  Deep masculine sobs erupted from him while Murphy gripped his forearm in sympathy.  Remington laid his head down on his crossed arms while his shoulders shook in grief.  
  
*****  
  
Laura listened from her place on the sofa where her own tears ran down her cheeks.  She'd awakened earlier after her husband had tucked the blanket around her, but she lay in a cozy half-doze, listening to the comforting murmur of the men’s voices.  
  
She paid attention only after Murphy demanded answers from Remington.  What she heard shocked her.  To Remington, their physical relationship was a potent demonstration of his love for her.  She knew him well enough to know that for him to be forced to hurt her in that way, that there were bound to be serious repercussions to his psyche.  The bastard that set up her husband couldn’t have picked a more powerful trap for him.  
  
Quietly, she placed her feet on the floor and stood up, balancing on her good leg.  Using the sofa and chairs as leverage, she made her way to the other end of the room.  Murphy looked up, but Laura motioned for him to keep silent.  He stood up to help her cross the last few steps to her husband and then picked up his glass to go sit on the terrace.  He had to swallow hard against the lump in his own throat.  
  
Grateful for the privacy, Laura smiled sadly at him.  She wrapped her arms around her husband, laying her head between his shoulder blades.  Remington’s head snapped up.  “Bloody hell, Laura, tell me you didn’t hear all that.”  He sounded desperate as he turned to her and tried to scrub the wetness from his eyes.  
  
She shifted, but kept her arms around him.  “I did.  How about we pretend that you were planning to give me the details in private when I was feeling better, and we won’t argue about it, hmmm?”  He noted somewhere in his head that Laura looked and sounded better after this last nap.  He raked a shaking hand through his hair again and then crossed his arms over his chest, putting space between them.  
  
“Laura, saying I’m sorry doesn’t seem adequate.”  
  
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”  
  
Remington exploded with fury.  “Laura, how can you say that?  I hurt you!  You screamed and cried while I bloody well fucked you!”  He clutched her shoulders in anguish, and then the rage blew away when he tipped his forehead to hers, leaving only deep sorrow.  “I’m so damned sorry, Laura.  I love you and I never want to hurt you.  I’m sorry, love.”  She pulled him to her and held him while he wept with shame.  
  
It only took a few moments before he realized that he was leaning on Laura, and she was shaking with the effort of holding him up.  “Oh, Good Lord, Laura.  What am I doing?”  Once again, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, arranging her until she was supported properly.  
  
“Sit with me, Remington.”  He did, not touching her.  It took her a few minutes to think through the fog in her head.  She dug deep within herself to find the right words.  “On that night, did you have a choice about having sex with me?”  
  
“Yes.”  He scrubbed at his beard.  
  
“Really?  What were your other options?  What would have happened if you chose not to be with me?”  
  
“O’Callaghan threatened to let his boys have you.”  
  
“Since you love me, that’s not really an option at all, is it?”  
  
“No, I think not.”  He ran a hand through his hair again.  
  
“So you didn’t have a choice about having sex with me.”  He started to speak, but she held up a hand. “Did you have a choice about stopping or saying ‘no’?”  
  
“No.”  He began to see where she was going with this.  
  
“What is it called when you aren’t allowed to say ‘no’ to sex?”  
  
“Ah, Laura.”  
  
“Say the word, Remington.”  
  
“It’s called rape, Laura.”  
  
“Rei, I wasn’t the only one that was raped.  You were, too--in an odd, messed up way.  For you to have those memories of ... of me ... frightens me.  And I love you, oh God, how I love you.  I wish I could take it all away.”  She looked down at her bandaged hands, trying to think of how to ease his pain.  Normally, she would draw him out with touches and caresses because Remington needed physical contact to help him emotionally, but she wasn’t sure how well that would work right now.  “Tell me the worst part.”  
  
“Laura, no.”  
  
“Tell me,” she insisted.  “If you don’t, it will always be there.  I’ll wonder and you’ll remember.  And things will never be quite right between us.”  
  
Without meeting her eyes, Remington stripped off his undershirt.  Laura was appalled.  His entire upper body was covered in bite marks and deep, vicious scratches--gouges, really--so deep the skin was torn open in places.  Heedless of her own pain, she sat up and pressed tender kisses to the few unmarked areas on his back.  “Oh, Rei, I’m sorry.”  
  
He flinched from her.  She pulled away, giving him space.  He crumpled his shirt into a ball he held between his hands.  “The worst of it, Laura, is that I knew that you weren’t making love to me; you were using me for pleasure.  You were oblivious to how I felt and kept demanding more.”  Remington stared off into space.  “Not once did you call me ‘Rei.’  And then when you began to come back to yourself, you didn’t believe it was me.  You fought me, using every dirty trick you know.  Some of those bruises I gave you when I pinned you down to keep you from hurting me.”  
  
His voice grew hoarse, “When O’Callaghan saw us fighting, he came in and demanded that I take you again.  He let two of his boys come in the cell when I refused.  I … couldn’t let them touch you, Laura.  His throat closed with a huge lump, but he forced the next words out.  “They watched and laughed while I raped you.  You screamed and fought me the whole time.  I hurt you.”  He added in a low voice, “I hate myself for that.”  
  
For a long time, the couple sat on the bed, eyes wet but unable to comfort each other.  They each were terribly ashamed of their own actions.  
  
Laura broke the silence first.  “How ... how did you do it?  Physically, I mean.”  
  
He snorted.  “In other words, was I attracted to you after all that?  The answer is most assuredly ‘no.’  I like my women quite willing, thank you.”  He paused and hung his head.  “It’s just technique, Laura.  Nothing else.”  
  
She decided she was going to have to change the mood for them to get past this nightmare.  “I’m certain there’s a story behind that, but frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”  
  
“Gone with the Wind, Vivian Leigh, Clark Gable, MGM, 1939,” he murmured out of habit.  
  
“Exactly.  Now get up and go into the bathroom; some of those marks need treating.”  
  
“Laura, you can hardly stand up--“  
  
“Then go get me the first aid kit, damn it!” she interrupted.  “I’m bloody well going to try to fix what I did to you, and this is all I can think of that you’ll let me do right now!”  Laura’s frustration washed over Remington, pushing him to his feet and toward the pile of medical supplies Fallon left for them.  
  
She used her teeth to strip off the wrappings on her hands.  The right one wasn’t too bad.  It felt like a sunburn, tight and sensitive but ignorable.  The left hand, well, she kept the first two fingers wrapped up but uncovered the rest.  Remington stacked everything on the bed next to Laura and sat down near her.  She gently smeared antibiotic ointment across every single mark, large and small.  The nastier ones earned gauze and medical tape.  “Off with the pants, buster.  I want to see all of you.”  
  
“Laura, darling, this really isn’t the time,” he chided gently, more out of habit than as a real protest.  
  
“Strip, love.  I can’t imagine your lovely bum remained intact.”  Remington arched a brow, but dropped his pants and briefs before lying prone across the bed where Laura could reach him.  He turned his face away from her.  She was hurt, but bit her tongue to keep silent.  Angry red scrapes covered her lover’s buttocks, with lesser ones down his right thigh.  Laura doctored those too.  Her torso hurt, spouting out sharp pains now and then, in spite of the medication, but she continued to ignore them and finished her treatment.  
  
“All done.”  There was no response.  Leaning all the way over --ouch!-- Remington’s closed eyes and even breathing clued her in.  She pulled the covers over his sleeping form and laid there for a long while beside him, thinking.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N While moving these stories to Ao3, I'm rereading and have to apologize for all the head-hopping. This my earliest long-fic. I've fixed a great deal of it, but a lot is still there. Thanks for your patience.


	15. Legwork

Early the next morning, Murphy woke when Steele stepped out to the terrace.  Yawning, he rolled off the   
sofa and punched the button on the coffee maker.  He carried his steaming cup to the little patio, shutting   
the door behind him.  
  
Remington barely shifted his gaze away from the horizon.  “Sorry ‘bout waking you, mate.”  
  
“Don’t think anything about it.”  Murphy cocked his head thoughtfully.  “I don’t sleep well when Kate’s   
not with me.  How about you?  Are you two okay?”  
  
“Fine, fine.  We’ll be fine and all that.  Just take a few days, that’s all.”  He waved his own mug of tea in   
the air and resumed staring at the brightening horizon.  
  
“We don’t have a few days, old pal.  We need both of you on your game and that means getting past this   
... this--”  
  
“Incident?  Hiccup?  Bloody buggering nightmare?” Steele shot back.  
  
“Look, neither of you had any control over the situation.  You did what you had to do.  She’s not   
blaming you, is she?”  
  
“No, of course not,” he said without thinking.  
  
“Then what are you blaming yourself for?”  Remington didn’t answer.  He just held up a hand and shook   
his head.  Murphy sighed.  “When you figure it out, let me know so I can tell you how stupid you are.”    
He flopped down on the wrought iron loveseat and drank his coffee.  
  
Remington was conscious of Murphy sticking around and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was   
grateful for his support.  His muddied and disjointed thoughts tumbled around in his head for a while   
before he came to the conclusion that sorting them took too much effort.  Finally, he turned to his friend   
and brother, “Want breakfast?”  
  
“You cooking?”  
  
“Aye, mate.”  
  
“I’m in.”  
  
  
  
While Murphy showered, Remington called room service and asked for a variety of groceries to be   
brought up.  Twenty minutes later, a confused bellhop set two large bags on the counter.  “Thanks,   
mate.”  He slipped the boy a bill from his wallet.  The boy touched his cap and slipped noiselessly out the   
door.  
  
He diced onions and tomatoes, minced garlic and sautéed mushrooms.  By the time he cracked eggs into   
a bowl, Mildred wandered out.  “That smells divine, Boss.  You sharing?”  
  
“Of course, Ms. Krebs.  Any special preferences?”  
  
“Nope.  You make it; I’ll eat it.  Can I do anything?”  
  
Remington glanced at their bedroom door.  “Will you look in on Laura and make sure she’s still   
sleeping?”  
  
Mildred frowned at the back of his head.  “Sure, Boss.”  She wondered why he didn’t want to check on   
her himself.  Laura looked about fifteen years old without makeup and her hair tumbling all over her   
pillow.  Her heart ached at seeing all the swelling and bruising on the younger woman’s face.  Her eyes   
were still closed, so Mildred quietly shut the door behind her.  “She’s still asleep.”  
  
“Excellent.  She needs her rest.”  
  
“No offense, Mr. Steele, but you look like you could catch a few z’s yourself.”  She hadn’t missed his   
still-worn look that morning.  
  
The phone rang.  Mildred jumped to get it just about the time Murphy stepped out of the bathroom.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Where’s Steele?  I know he’s there," said the voice on the other end of the line.  
  
Mildred shrugged her shoulders and motioned that the caller wanted Remington.  Murphy took the   
handset from her.  “Steele here.”  
  
“We’re not done yet, Steele.  I want my diamonds.”     
  
“Find someone else to get them.”  
  
“Get my diamonds or your wife leaves this country in a box.”  
  
"Where is my wife?"  
  
“In your own goddamned bed, Steele.  You’ve got twelve days, and my men are watching you.  One   
wrong move and you’ll both pay.  Don’t cross me on this, Steele.  And don’t try to run either.”  
  
Murphy quietly put the phone down.  
  
“Not bad.  I didn’t know you could do accents,” Mildred commented.  
  
“Neither did I.”  Murphy’s revelation cracked all three of them up and quiet laughter rang through the   
kitchen.  
  
  
  
Laura woke to an empty bed and a splitting headache.  Someone had thoughtfully placed a glass of water   
next to a pill on her bedside table.  One guess as to who that might be.  She swallowed the medicine and   
lay back on her pillow, willing the pain to go away and wishing Remington were there.  She missed him   
holding her last night.  It was the first time since they began sharing a bed that they didn’t touch in some   
way while they were sleeping.  Her heart ached.  
  
Thirty minutes later Remington stood by her bedside.  Laura opened her eyes, automatically reaching out   
to him.  He hesitated before taking her hand and placing a perfunctory kiss on her forehead.  Even in her   
foggy brain, Laura noticed the difference.  She breathed deep to clear her head and smelled breakfast   
wafting through air.  
  
“Up, Laura.  Time to eat.  You need to consume something other than pills today.”  He pulled her from   
the bed and helped her into dining room.  Mildred and Murphy were already there, happily inhaling the   
mushroom and vegetable omelettes Remington had prepared.  
  
“This is divine, Chief.  I can’t imagine what kind of workouts you two to do to be able to eat like this all   
the time.  I’d look like a meatball by the end of the month,” Mildred joked.  
  
“I, ah, thank you for the compliment,” he said slowly as he took his chair.  Remington fed his wife   
breakfast.  She fidgeted and kept rubbing her eyes and head.  “What’s wrong, love?”  
  
“I feel fuzzy.  I can’t concentrate on anything, and my eyes keep crossing."  
  
“It’s the pain medicine.”  Mildred patted her on the arm.  “Ms. Sweeney said this might happen if you   
took it on an empty stomach.  Once you eat, you’ll feel better.”  Laura gave a tiny nod and opened her   
mouth for the bite of egg Remington held out for her.  
  
Afterward, Murphy and Mildred volunteered for kitchen duty while Remington took Laura into the   
bathroom.  “Laura, uh, do you need to, uh ... “  
  
“Go to the bathroom?” she added groggily.  
  
“Ah, yes.”  
  
“Yep.  If you can get me close, I can do the rest.”  
  
 _Thank God._  “You’re sure?”  Intimacy was one thing; watching your spouse pee was entirely another.    
Remington was a big fan of doors on the water closet.  Some things just didn’t need to be shared.  
  
“Yes.  I’ll need help in the shower though.”  
  
  
  
Fingers capable of picking the most difficult of locks turned out to be equally adept at braiding long   
auburn hair.  Laura’s morning routine provided a constant source of fascination for Remington.  Prior to   
their marriage, he'd only cohabited with a woman occasionally and not for any extended period of time--  
and he'd never shared a bathroom.  
  
From their first day waking together in Ashford Castle, Remington made a point of watching Laura or   
joining her for at least part of their morning toilette.  He craved the intimate atmosphere that only the   
closest of friends and lovers achieve.  Laura was mostly amused by his presence.  He studied her   
cosmetics, her hairstyling tools, and even her razor--eventually replacing the latter with a superior version  
of his own.  
  
He loved brushing her long hair and watching the silky strands dance through the bristles.  He spent   
several hours one night learning to French braid Laura’s hair after nagging her for weeks before she gave   
in.  Of course, it did not take him long before he plaited her tresses with flair and precision.  If Laura   
could be pressured into admitting it, he did a better job than she.  
  
This morning, Remington’s familiarity with Laura’s routine was priceless.  Her hands were still incredibly  
sensitive to heat, and her first two fingers had to stay dry, so they showered together with her left hand   
covered in a latex glove.  “Presidential Suite and no seat in the shower.  What’s this world coming to?”   
Laura muttered as she fumbled one-handedly with her buttons.  
  
“Don’t worry; we’ll think of something.”  He brushed her hands aside and had her clothes off in   
moments.  Seeing Laura naked and covered in dark bruises made Remington wince--although he   
carefully schooled his expression not to let it show.  Guilt tramped through him and kicked him in the   
shin again.  
  
He put one arm around her while he bathed her and washed her hair.  Keeping her steadied was a neat   
trick that relied both on his agility and strength and Laura’s intense desire not to fall on her ass in the   
bathtub.   _Thank God my head is clearing up_ , she thought.   _I might not have enough balance for this  
otherwise._  Laura moaned as he rinsed the last of the soap from her hair.  “Darling, that feels   
incredible.”  Fallon had helped her wash yesterday, but Remington knew her inside and out.  In her   
opinion, only a hot shower and a good scrubbing with her favorite shampoo truly made her feel clean.  
  
“Mmm, good.  Tilt your head back for me.”  He sluiced water over her head.  “There you go, love.    
Now hold on to me while I wash.”  
  
Laura leaned against the tiled wall and clutched Remington’s waist while he showered.  She frowned at   
the marks covering his body.  The soap was sure to make them sting.  He made short work of washing   
up and turned off the water before wrapping her in one of the hotel’s thick towels.  
  
They spent the next half hour treating each other’s bumps and bruises.  She patched up his scratches,   
and he worked his way up her body from foot to face.  Her feet looked much better--a couple of band-  
aids on the most sensitive blisters and thick socks took care of them.  Then Remington wrapped her knee   
with expert skill.  The swelling was down significantly, and he was determined to keep it that way.    
Working his way up, he pressed on the questionable ribs.  “How do these feel?”  
  
She winced.  “Ow!  That hurts.”  
  
He nodded and wrapped them tightly as well, ignoring her quick inhalation as he cinched it a notch.    
“You’re able to sit up without support, though I know it hurts, so I’m sure they’re not broken.  Ms.   
Sweeney’s right; they’re probably cracked.  Two or three weeks will see them healed.”  
  
He left her hands uncovered today except for the two left fingers.  The skin peeled in places and itched,   
but she was grateful to have some use of them.  
  
“How does your head feel?”  Remington stared into her eyes.  She blinked at his intense gaze.  “Any   
headaches?”  
  
She blinked again in surprise.  “No, actually.”  No wonder she felt better.  The dull throb was gone.    
Well, at least until Remington replaced the tape across the bridge of her nose.  “Ouch!”  
  
“Sorry, love.  No other way to do it.”  His eyes trailed over her face.  “The swelling’s down.  You’re   
beginning to look like you again.”  
  
Laura tried to look behind her into the mirror.  “Really?”  
  
“Mmmm, just the same as if Laurie Beth took her favorite marker to your face.”  He referred to their   
youngest niece and the bruises fading from deep purple to dark green.  
  
“Oh!  You!”  She edged around and got a good look at herself.  “I look terrible!”      
  
“Love, it’s healing.  Give it a week and you’ll be good as new.”  
  
Laura reached into the drawer beside her and fished out her cosmetics bag.  “At least I can do something   
about it.”  But it was harder than she thought to apply makeup with her right hand--especially with   
sensitive, peeling tips.     
  
Remington watched her struggle for a minute while he dressed.  “Would you like some help with that?”   
he offered.  
  
Laura’s mouth fell open.  “I, uh, okay.”  He blended her foundation and concealer together and layered it   
over the worst of bruises, then smoothed the crème over her entire face.  When he was done, only faint   
dark smudges could be seen under her eyes.  She couldn’t hide her astonishment.  “Rei, you do   
occasionally surprise the hell out of me.”  
  
He dropped a kiss on her head.  “Good.  It’d be a shame if I couldn’t do that after watching you every   
morning for the past two years.  Think you can do the rest?”  
  
Laura nodded, thinking that his casual kiss felt good.  She painstakingly applied mascara and lip gloss   
while Remington dried her hair and plaited it.  The two braids on either side of her head met at the back   
where he secured them with a gorgeous black clip.  “Oh, I like that.”  She turned her head this way and   
that.  “I do believe, if you gave up detective work, you could find a career as a hairstylist.”  
  
“Bite your tongue, Laura.  I’ve little desire to play with anyone’s hair but yours,” he quipped.  As he   
assisted her into the living room, he realized that in the process of helping his wife this morning, she had   
somehow managed to soothe some of the jagged edges in his soul.  
  
  
  
While the couple dressed, Mildred and Murphy canvassed the hotel.  They chatted up the valets, talked   
to the check-in desk clerks and any other staff members they could corner for a moment or two.  When   
they returned to the suite, they found Laura and Remington sitting in the living room with Laura’s leg   
propped up, going over Mildred’s notes from the previous day.  
  
“Hi, Chief ... Hey, Mrs. Steele.  You look better today,” she chirped.  
  
“Thanks, Mildred,” Laura replied.  “I feel better.  What have you two been up to this morning?”  
  
“Lots.  Does anyone want coffee?”  The Steeles shook their heads.  
  
“I do, but I’ll pour.  Go ahead and tell them what you found out,” said Murphy.  
  
Mildred was excited about finding a witness to the explosion, a loose-lipped valet that had already spilled   
his story to the reporters still milling around the hotel.  She recounted his story to the team.  
  
 _“Aye, the Bannisters waited for me to bring their car around.  The street was blocked with the Steeles'  
limousine and another car parked the wrong way on the other side.”  
  
“Do you remember what that car looked like?”  Mildred asked.  
  
“Ah, hmmm--an Audi p’haps?  Aye, I saw the four rings on the hood.”  
  
“What color: light or dark?”  
  
“Black for sure.”  
  
“Did you see the explosion?  Or anything that happened just before it?  
  
“Aye, I did.  Seems I was pullin' in the street behind the limo when a bellhop spoke to the limo driver.    
This was before the Steeles arrived.  I don’t know the chap drivin’, but they spoke a minute before the   
bellhop left.”  
  
“How did you know he was a bellhop?”  
  
“’e was dressed in the hotel uniform.”  
  
“Good.  What happened after the bellhop left?”  
  
“Ah, that’s when things got a bit hairy.”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“The Steeles came out of the hotel, and the bellhop called for Mrs. Steele.  I don’t know what he said to   
the lass, but she turned around and went back into the lobby.  Mr. Steele got into the limo, but a man   
came to the other side of the car.  Mr. Steele got out o' the limo and got in t’other car, the Audi.  The   
Audi drove off, and the bloody limo exploded.  I didn’t see Mrs. Steele, but the others tell me she was   
screamin’ and what not, pounding on the car for her husband.”  
  
“What others are those?”  Mildred wanted to know.  
  
“Why, the Bannisters, o’ course.”  
  
“Of course.”  Mildred added that to her notes.  “Can you describe the man from the other car?”  
  
“Ah, well, I can a bit.  He’s broad and stocky, darkish short hair.  How’s that?”  
  
Mildred stuck out her hand, “Thank you, young man.  You’ve been a lovely help today.”  He blushed   
and tipped his hat to her.  
  
_“Very good, Mildred,” Laura complimented.  “Those descriptions match ones that Remington and I came   
up with.”  
  
“Exactly.”  Mildred beamed.  
  
“If you ever get tired of year-round spring in California, come to Denver.  I’ll hire you in a minute,”   
added Murphy.  He related how he spent his own time wandering the lobby, making notes about the   
layout and visiting with the girl at the concierge desk.  A little flattery from the handsome blond American   
and some astute questioning yielded a fair amount of interesting information about the hotel, including a   
map of the first floor sketched on a napkin and quite a few names and bits of gossip about several   
employees.  
  
When he finished, Mildred retrieved the stack of papers Remington lifted from the castle.  She handed it   
to the two men to sort through.  Murphy changed chairs to sit near his brother-in-law while Mildred   
began quizzing Laura on the details of her experience.  Laura was able to fill in her conversation with       
O’Callaghan and quite a bit of detail about the castle itself.  
  
Catching the gist of the conversation, Murphy butted in, “Three stories, Laura?  Good God!”  He rubbed   
his temples.  Even Remington looked troubled.  He hadn’t realized.  
  
Laura ignored her old partner and drew out the map Remington had sketched the night before.  She   
pointed out elevations and exterior details along with approximate distances to the creek and road while   
her husband made detailed notes.  She continued, “The distance from the creek to the road is only a   
guess.  I walked for maybe three or four hours along the creek bed, but I wasn’t making very good time--  
maybe one or two miles per hour?  So let’s say I walked between four and seven miles to the road.    
When Fallon gets here, she can pinpoint where she picked me up, but it’s not really important since   
Remington already knows how to get to the castle.”  
  
Mildred cocked her head.  “Mrs. Steele, I just want to make sure I get this straight.  You climbed up a   
wall, down three stories of stone, crossed the meadow and then a creek to the road?”  Laura nodded.    
“On a gimpy knee and ice,” she added.  Laura nodded again.  “What were you thinking?  What if your   
knee had given out?”  
  
Laura sighed.  She didn’t like thinking about it.  “Mildred, at that moment, I thought Rei was dead.  I had   
been drugged, raped and beaten.  Quite frankly, I didn’t care if I made it.  If I did, I figured either God or   
Remington wanted me to live.  I was betting on Rei when I found my lockpick under my wedding ring.”    
  
Mildred’s mouth fell open.  She’d never heard Laura’s nickname for Mr. Steele.  She thought she knew   
her kids pretty well, but discovery gave her a tiny glimpse into the profound relationship they had   
developed in the past two years.  Closing her mouth, she turned to him.  “Where were you, Chief?”  She   
whipped out the timeline and began sketching notes.  
  
Remington recovered from his own astonishment at Laura’s use of his nickname in front of the pair.    
“Distracting O’Callaghan so she had time to get away.”  He doodled on the notepad in front of him,   
sketching diamonds in all various cuts and sizes.  
  
Irked, Murphy flipped through Mildred’s notes of Remington’s recitation.  “You didn’t mention checking   
her cell to see if she escaped.”  
  
“I tried, but couldn’t get to it.  I could hear O’Callaghan ranting from the other end of the corridor.    
Besides, his expression gave it away.  That’s why he didn’t want me to see her again.”  
  
“But when you escaped, you didn’t try to find her.”  
  
“Murphy, I could have wasted hours looking for Laura in the dark.  I had no idea in which direction she   
headed.  Not only that, I would double the chance of one of us getting caught.  Instead, I headed to the   
first place she would go.”  
  
“But you left her behind while you made your escape.  How could you leave her like that and not even   
try to find her?”  Murphy’s temper snapped as he jumped to his feet and began pacing.  The image of   
Laura trudging cold and battered through the countryside was burned into his brain.  “She’s your wife for   
God’s sake!”  He thought of his own Kate in that situation and clenched his fist.  
  
Steele stood, his own hands balling up as he shot back in icy cold tones, “If I, for one moment, thought   
Laura couldn’t escape from that cell alone, I would never have left her.  I bloody well did what I could to   
ensure she could get out and then I let her do her job.  If she could get out if that cell, she could see her   
way to the nearest village.”  
  
“It’s not a job; she’s your wife.  And that’s a hell of a lot of faith, Steele.”  Murphy crossed his arms to   
keep from slugging that pretty face.  
  
“Yes, it bloody well is.  And if you think that walking out of the cell after seeing what they had done to   
her wasn’t the hardest bloody thing I’ve done in my life, you’re quite mistaken,” he shot back in a hard   
voice.  
  
Privately, he admitted to himself if he had known she was three stories off the ground, he would have at   
least checked to see if she made the descent.  The image of her broken body lying in the frost flashed   
through his head, making him wince.  He shook his head to ward off the vision.  “Don’t get me wrong,   
Murphy, had I not known that Laura was already out, I would have never left the grounds.”  
  
For lack of anything better to do, he jammed his hands into his pockets and looked down at Laura.  He   
frowned at her cheery disposition.  Murphy caught the look and echoed Remington’s expression.  Laura   
leaned back against the sofa and cupped her uninjured knee.  “It took you long enough, partner.”  She   
grinned.  
  
Murphy stuttered, “You’re ... you’re not angry with him?”  
  
“No.  Why should I be?  As Remington once told me, when you’re partners, you never leave someone   
behind unless you can trust him to get himself out when things go bad.  If you can’t do that, it’s time to   
get out of the game.”  
  
“I’m astonished you remembered that, love.”  Remington picked up her injured hand and kissed the back   
of it before sitting down again.  Murphy took his seat as well, shaking his head.  
  
Laura continued, “Murphy, Kate’s not in the business.  She doesn’t know the things the four of us do.    
Oh, I know she’s played detective once or twice, but it’s not the same.  And as a couple, things are   
different for us.  If we’re going to be a real partnership, Remington can’t come rushing over to rescue me   
from every single danger.  And vice versa.  Yes, we’re sensible and do our best to meet risky situations   
together, but sometimes we have to trust the other one will be okay without us.”  
  
“I don’t know how you do it.”  
  
“Because for now, this is the life we choose.  Really, Murphy, it’s not much different from working with   
you or Mildred.  You trusted your back to me many times when we worked together.”  
  
“Yes, but I ... wasn’t in love with you,” he sighed.  
  
Remington chimed in, “Indeed.  It’s harder, and Laura’s beat me over the head with it here and again,   
but we’ve managed to work through it.”  
  
Murphy muttered under his breath, too low for Laura to hear across the table, “Just wait ‘til she gets   
pregnant.”  Remington caught it though and flashed Murphy a quick grin.  
  
Laura, missing the whole exchange, demanded they get back to the task.  Mildred added a hearty second   
though she slid her eyes toward Murphy and stifled her own small smile.  
  
Murphy grew serious as they returned to the recounting of events.  “One more thing.  That phone call for   
you this morning, Steele. ...”  He recounted the conversation for Laura while Mildred wrote it down.  
  
“Then our little ruse in the lobby only fooled the reporters,” mused Laura.  “They already know we’re   
here.”  
  
“We’ve got a snitch in the hotel.”  That was from Remington.  
  
“Who?” Mildred wondered, then snapped her fingers.  “It’s got to be someone at the concierge desk or   
nearby because all requests from the Presidential Suite are routed through the concierge.  I’ll get the hotel   
manager in here.  I think we need to talk.”  
  
Twenty minutes later, a fussy little man knocked on the door.  Murphy opened it and waived him into   
the living room where Laura was wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa and Remington paced behind it.    
Mildred sat near Laura with her ever-present steno pad.  Upon getting his first look at Mr. Steele’s icy   
cold demeanor and Mrs. Steele’s battered face, the manager stuttered nervously.  “Mr. Steele, I had no   
idea you arrived back safely.  May I ... may I call a doctor for your wife?”  
  
“Already done.  But we do have some questions for you.  Please,” he gestured to the sofa, “have a seat.    
Mind telling me your name?”  
  
Thoroughly intimidated, the manager sat abruptly.  “Sir, yes, I mean, of course, sir.  Matthew Donovan.”  
  
“Mr. Donovan.  My wife and I were attacked outside this very hotel on Sunday.  We were kidnapped   
and mistreated before we were able to make our way back here.”  
  
“Yes, sir.  Surely you’ll not be thinking our hotel is responsible for these events?”  
  
“Not directly.”  The little man seemed relieved.  That feeling didn’t last long when Remington continued,   
“We do have concerns that someone on your staff may have tipped off the person or persons responsible   
for our situation.”  
  
“Wha--  How do you come by that conclusion?”  Donovan’s face twitched and he clasped his hands   
nervously.  
  
Murphy walked over and stood next to the man as he took up the thread of interrogation.  “Because I   
checked and all internal hotel phone calls from the penthouse are routed directly to the concierge desk   
with the exception of room service.”  That little tidbit came from the girl at the check-in desk.  “Which   
means that when Mr. and Mrs. Steele called for their car on Sunday, someone at the concierge desk took   
the message and notified another party quickly enough to set whatever plan they had in motion.  Without   
someone relaying that information, it would be impossible to time all the elements of the kidnapping   
exactly.”  Murphy propped a foot on the coffee table and leaned in.  “So tell us, Mr. Donovan, who was   
the concierge on Sunday afternoon?”  
  
“Sean Hennessy.  He’s a nice young lad I brought in nearly three years ago.  Never had a problem.”  
  
“And was he on duty Tuesday around lunchtime?”  
  
“Ah, let me think.  Yes, yes he was.  He’s working the day shift right now with Mondays and Thursdays   
off.”  
  
“Thank you.  How many other concierges do you have?”  
  
“Three.  I have three shifts a day, and someone has a day off.”  
  
“Good to know.”  Mildred wrote the details on her notepad.  “We’ll need duty rosters for the past thirty   
days and for the next two weeks,” she ordered.  ”We’ll visit with each of them.  I’ll speak with the three   
on duty today--today’s Thursday--so perhaps you’ll give us Mr. Hennessey’s address, and we’ll call on   
him at home?”  
  
Reluctantly, the manager agreed.  He feared the Steeles might file a lawsuit against the hotel if he refused   
to cooperate.  As the case had already garnered international attention, he had a vested interest in keeping   
the hotel’s reputation unblemished.  In fact, he could reap quite a bit of profit from the ensuing tourism if   
he managed to keep both the press and the Steeles happy.  In light of the former, he ventured to ask a   
favor from the latter, “Would it be possible for y--for your representative to hold a press conference?  Or   
at least release a statement?  The reporters are beginning to be a bit of a nuisance to the other guests.  If   
you would rather not, I quite understand.”  
  
Remington arched a brow.  “Indeed.  Perhaps that would be best.  We will inform you of our decision.”    
The manager nodded, unsure if Mr. Steele was using a royal “we” or if he was referring to himself and   
Mrs. Steele.  
  
When Donovan left the suite, Murphy turned to Steele, “How would you like to pay young Hennessy a   
visit today?”  
  
An unholy grin lit up Remington’s face.  “I’d like that very much, thank you.”  
  
“Boys, boys.  Let’s get back to work here,” said Mildred.  “You can go intimidate Hennessy this   
afternoon.  Now, we have some ground to cover.”  
  
  
  
Laura found the whole exchange fascinating.  Whereas she nominally led most of the investigations in the  
agency, this was the first time she stepped back entirely to let the rest of the team handle it.  Really, she   
didn’t have much of a choice.  With all the painkillers floating through her system, she was having a hard   
time concentrating on much at all.  She refused to admit out loud that she could hardly make her way   
through Mildred’s shorthand notes at the moment.  Right now it was impressive watching the three of   
them team up with Mildred playing centerfield.  Her IRS roots showed as she snapped orders and   
demanded answers.  
  
Once she gathered the team around the table again and had an accurate recounting of the events since   
Sunday, she pulled out the list of speculations from the night before along with the file folder from Mr.   
Steele’s office.  “I found one of the names you mentioned in your file, Chief.  Rory Malone.  What’s the   
connection?”  
  
“Somehow, Mildred, I knew you would leap on that.”  
  
“This is no time for secrets, Chief.  'Fess up.”  
  
Remington could see Laura furrowing her brow in concentration.  “Malone’s a shady jeweler who   
bounced around London and Dublin.  When he needed, ah, shall we say, a significant infusion of capital,   
he hired me to lift a particular jewel and stage a break-in so he could make a claim on his insurance.  I   
worked three separate jobs for him over four or five years.  Each time I returned the jewels and was paid   
a percentage of the insurance.  All three times he shorted me.”  
  
“How much?” Murphy wanted to know.  
  
“My fee was twenty percent--he paid me fifteen the first two times and only ten the last time.  He knew   
better.  The last time I lifted a little extra pay.”  He tapped his wedding band and pointed to Laura’s.  “I   
found three small red stones hidden in his office and took them home with me.  Once I figured out what   
they were, I sneaked back in and substituted three rubies of excellent color and cut for the stones.  They   
cost me a few quid too.”  
  
Mildred lifted Laura’s left hand.  “I always assumed these were rubies.  What are they then?”  
  
“Red diamonds.”  That came from Laura.  “I knew you would have a story for them.  Is this what      
they’re after?  Our rings?”  
  
“No, I’ll get to that.  By the time Malone figured out who nicked the gems, I already had built a decent   
reputation as a bloody good thief.  Malone was afraid if he called me on it, I’d pick his pockets clean.”  
  
“Would you?”  Laura asked.  
  
“Of course.  I’d a reputation to maintain.”  Remington pretended to straighten his collar.  
  
“Are you afraid he’ll come after you?”  
  
“Doesn’t work that way, love.  If he spills on me now, I’ll turn him in for the rest.”  
  
“Red diamonds?  I’ve never even heard of such a thing,” said Mildred.  
  
Remington brushed his thumb across his own band.  “They’re in the same class as any fancy coloured   
diamond: pink, purple and red are all variants.  But they are only found in one particular mine in   
Australia.  A true red diamond is so rare that perhaps one a year is found, cut, and sold at auction for   
around a million a caret.  A matched set like the ones we wear?  Despite the fact they are small, they’re   
worth a bloody fortune because they are cut from the same stone.  
  
“A million a caret?  I hope you’re insured.”  
  
“Indeed we are.  Thank you, Mildred.”  
  
“Wait a minute; if you stole them all those years ago, how were you able to insure them?  Surely they   
would have turned up on the radar?” Murphy wondered  
  
Remington rubbed his nose.  “I, ah, stole the provenance when I replaced the stones.”  All four of them   
knew that provenance is the record of ownership for any valuable object such as art or jewelry.  Without   
it, the property could only be sold illegally on the black market.  No legitimate auction house or museum   
would accept a piece without provenance.  He continued, “Since Malone never reported the stones   
stolen, some time ago I simply added my name to the bill of sale and insured them.  There’s very little he   
can do about it now.”  
  
“So what’s the link between Malone and O’Callaghan,” Murphy wanted to know.  
  
“Malone’s got himself an uncut red diamond that O’Callaghan wants.  It’s supposed to be about two   
carets and pure red in color.  What I don’t know is what he plans to do with it, and I don’t know why he   
picked me.  I’ve never worked for O’Callaghan, at least that I knew, so the connection has to be   
Malone.  But really, Malone made it easy for me to break into his shop and get the jewelry.  I only had to   
set the scene for the break-in, so to speak.  The only time I actually lifted a gem from him was the last   
time with the three diamonds.”  
  
Steele paused for a moment.  “What I can tell you is that he’s the only person besides Daniel, and now   
the three of you, that knew about these diamonds and how I obtained them.  When O’Callaghan and I   
conversed, it was apparent that not only did he know I had them, he knew when and where I got them.    
Which means Malone spilled the beans to him for some reason.”  
  
“Sounds like we need to pay Malone a visit too.”  
  
Before Remington could answer Murphy, a knock on the door interrupted them.  Murphy opened the   
door for Fallon and a much older man she introduced as Dr. Hathaway.  
  
With Remington looking on from the doorway, Dr. Hathaway examined Laura in their bedroom.  The   
doctor had years of experience etched on his face, and his beefy hands carefully searched out every   
injury on her tiny frame.  “Just a wee slip of a lass, aren’t ye?  Now take a deep breath.  Since I can’t get   
an MRI of your knee, I’ll have to feel out your ligaments to see what’s torn and what’s not.  I’ll be   
flexing your joint this way and that.”  As he explained, he rubbed his hands together to warm them before   
he began walking his fingers along her tendons.  
  
In moments, Laura was sheet white.  She tried to grit her teeth and think past what the doctor was doing,   
but it hurt.  She wanted Remington, but he was still so unnerved about touching her that he stood frozen   
by the door.  It wasn’t until she sucked in her breath and swayed when Dr. Hathaway pressed on a   
particularly sore ligament that her husband slid an arm around her and let her bury her face in his   
shoulder.  Another long minute passed before she felt his hand come up to stroke her hair.  
  
When the doctor finished, he wrapped the joint securely once again and fixed her a hard gaze under   
beetled brows.  “You are the luckiest lass I’ve treated.  From what Nurse Sweeney tells me about the   
shape she found you in Monday night, you’re fortunate to be in one piece.  A bad stumble, another bump   
on your head and you would be unconscious and freezing to your death.”  He shook his head.  “I agree   
with Nurse Sweeney; you’ve got a concussion, a broken nose, bruised ribs, second degree burns on your   
fingers, a torn knee and a touch of frostnip on your feet.  All of these are healing well, thanks to the care   
you’ve received.  Now, about your knee--it’s apparent you’ve had surgery before.”  
  
Laura nodded with her head still on Remington’s shoulder, and he answered for her.  “She collided with   
a tree while we chased a criminal down the street last year.”  He described in detail exactly how the   
kneecap and ligaments were repaired.  
  
The doctor nodded and hmmmd to himself.  “Ah, that explains all the scar tissue.”  He fixed grey-brown   
eyes on her again.  “Me best guess is you took a solid kick right here.”  He pointed to an area just at the   
top and outside of her kneecap where the contusions were the darkest.  “It doesn’t feel torn, just   
stretched badly, and the whole area is bruised deeply.  The scar tissue makes everything more sensitive   
to swelling.  For now, ‘tis critical you keep off it and elevated for at least a solid week.”  He waggled a   
finger at her.  “No walking, no limping, no weight at all on it.  Give it a chance to heal, lass.”  He   
breathed deeply.  “When you don’t need the pain medicine anymore, start with the exercises you learned   
in rehab.  Ye understand?”  
  
“Yes, thank you, doctor,” Laura spoke up and sat up.  
  
“Good.  Now get some more rest.  Sleeps what’s best for healing, me girl.  Especially for that hard head   
of yours.”  The doctor rose along with Remington.  Fallon bustled in at that moment with a glass of water   
and a milder pain medication for Laura.  The woman helped Laura get resettled in bed before she left.  
  
Remington smoothed the sheets around her and stood beside the bed.  She reached out to touch his   
fingers but missed when he turned to close the door.  Alone and unhappy, Laura gave in to the   
medication and slept.  
  
Mildred offered the doctor and nurse a cup of tea.  While the water was heating, Fallon motioned   
Remington out to the terrace for a private conversation.  Remington once again expressed his gratitude.    
He brushed a kiss across her knuckles.  “Ms. Sweeney, my thanks for all you’ve done for us.”  
  
She blushed merrily.  “No thanks necessary, I’m glad to be of help.”  She waved her hands at him,   
shooing him to the rail.  “Your lass stands not a chance against your Irish charm for sure.”  He flashed   
his characteristic wide grin at her.  “Now lad, I want to talk a bit about what you told us yesterday.    
‘Bout what you did to your wife.”  
  
Remington straightened up and looked away, unable to meet her gaze.  
  
“Me boyo, I’ve seen you with your wife.  And I know how your wife thinks of you.  Her grief over you   
nearly tore me heart out.”  She took his hand in hers.  “Forgive yourself, Mr. Steele.  Ye did what ye   
thought best, awful though it may be.  A lesser man would have left his wife so as not to be responsible   
for her.  You did the unthinkable and your wife is whole.  She’ll never remember what happened.”    
Fallon took another deep breath.  “What’s more, forgive her for her actions, lad.  She’ll never recollect   
what she did to you.  Don’t be afraid to tell her for she’s a strong one.”  
  
Remington leaned on the rail and dug in his pocket for a toothpick.  “I did.  Inadvertently, I admit, but   
she knows the whole of it.”  He chewed on the tip.     
  
“Then you’ll both be the better for it.”  She patted his hand.  “Neither o’ ye bears the blame for the   
circumstances.”  She blushed again and offered another bit of advice, “Don’t be afraid of loving her   
again.  It will be better than the last, and your heart will be that much mended.”  
  
Now Remington flushed slightly at her frank advice.  Fallon misunderstood his blush and roared with   
laughter.  “That’s me boyo.  I see me meddling is useless.  I think I’ll take me cup o’ tea,” she said with   
a smile.  
  
Remington stopped her when she turned to leave.  “Ms. Sweeney, I’ll be sure to take your words to   
heart.  It ... helps.  Laura told me much the same thing, but it helps to hear it from you.”  
  
“You’re most welcome, me lad.  Now come drink a cup whilst your wife rests a bit.”  
  
  
  
While Dr. Hathaway quizzed Murphy about the merits of American football, Mildred pulled Fallon aside   
to make notes on her map.  The nurse pointed out where she picked up Laura.  Remington looked over   
her shoulder.  “What castles are in this area?  Maybe within ten kilometers or so?”  
  
“Is that where ye were held?  A castle?”  
  
Remington raised a brow at her.  “Yes.”  
  
“The only one that comes to me mind is Castle Ballybruin.  ‘Tis not far from here,” she tapped on the   
spot Mildred marked.  “Perhaps seven or eight kilometers.  Here I think.”  She tapped on another spot.  
  
Mildred peered at the place she pointed out and compared it with her notes.  “Look here, Chief.  If the   
castle is here, then here’s the stream she walked in, and there is the road where it crosses the stream.    
Laura was right; this is seven kilometers or thereabouts--so maybe four and a half or five miles?”  
  
“Do you know anything about the castle or who lives there?” Remington asked Fallon.  
  
“Not much, I’m afraid.  ‘Tis restored, I suppose, but no one sees much o’ the residents.  I’ve never   
heard of them entertaining or celebrating.  For that matter, I don’t think they shop at the local markets.”  
  
“Has it been sold recently?”  
  
“No, maybe a decade or so ago?  I’m not certain about that at all.”  
  
“That’s quite all right.  You’ve given us quite a bit to look into.”  Fallon had merely confirmed what   
Remington already knew about the place O’Callaghan called home.

 

 


	16. Teamwork

Not long after that, Fallon and Dr. Hathaway took their leave, promising to return in a couple of days to   
check in with their patient.  While Laura slept, Murphy and Mildred worked on a press release that would   
satisfy the reporters’ curiosity and get them to go away.  
  
About the same time, Remington realized he had a phone call to make.  He jabbed at the buttons, dialing   
his mother-in-law’s house.  “Hello, Abigail.”  He yanked the phone away from his ear at her shriek.    
“Yes, yes, I’m not dead. ...  Yes, Laura is here with me. ...  Ah, no, she’s sleeping at the moment.  I can’  
t tell you much, but we were both kidnapped and Laura was ... hurt. ...  No, she’s not in the hospital; she’  
s with me. ...  Abigail, Laura will be fine.  She needs time to heal from her injuries. ...  Yes, it’s her knee   
again.”  He winced, knowing they would eventually pay for that white lie.  
  
He cringed again.  “No, Abigail, you don’t need to fly out here.”  Laura would kill him if he let that   
happen.  “We’ll be home in a couple of weeks.  She’ll be fine.  I’ll have her call you in a day or two.”    
He listened as Abigail babbled in confusion and spent quite a bit of time reassuring her they were coming   
home soon.  
  
  
  
Afterwards, Remington and Murphy took themselves off to have that chat with Sean Hennessy, and   
Mildred began wading through the stacks of disks and papers.  The papers proved to be bank records of   
various accounts held in Dublin, Cork and Switzerland.  Two of the accounts had healthy balances while   
the third seemed to be a holding account where money deposits were immediately swept into one of the   
other two accounts.     
  
The disks were more interesting.  Mildred found extensive lists of people and businesses, some with   
notations about business dealings and private affairs.  She leaned back in her chair, thinking this was all   
too easy.  Would a man known to be a ringleader of corruption really commit the details of his operations   
to a disk file?  Did he think his internal security would stand up to a man like Mr. Steele?  Setting the   
disks aside, she turned to the Filofax.  The pages seemed to be marked in a code, just initials followed by   
a short notation.  
  
 _AK--bus op, CJ--pmt, RM--bus op.  
  
_ Payments and business opportunities she could figure out, but who were these people?  She paged   
through the files on the disks, looking for connections.  She found a Carter Jansen that matched the CJ   
and Rory Malone matched the RM, but who was AK?  The first two could be just coincidence, but   
perhaps not.   _Hold it, Krebs.  If Carter Jansen from the disk is being blackmailed, then maybe  
O’Callaghan was picking up his payment.  In that case, Rory wouldn’t be on the list.  But what’s the   
connection with Mr. and Mrs. Steele?  
  
_She flipped back through the Filofax and found the Steele’s flight dates and hotel information noted   
down.  Paging backwards, she found other notations on other dates.   _RS bkd flight.  RS at RPH--Cork._    
It seemed O’Callaghan knew about the trip to Ireland almost from the moment Laura bought the tickets.    
But how?  With four major airports and any number of airlines flying in, it would be almost impossible to  
track a flight.  
  
On the other hand, if O’Callaghan knew of the Steeles' penchant for staying in luxury hotels, a few well-  
placed snitches could keep an eye out.  And the moment Laura booked the Rothestown Park Hotel, O’  
Callaghan would be notified.  Now that made sense to Mildred.  Perhaps Remington and Murphy would   
get a bit more out of young Sean.  
  
  
  
Murphy hardly recognized Remington when he emerged from the hotel.  Dressed in worn trousers, a   
black corduroy coat that had seen better days and a classic Irish cap, he would have mistaken Steele for a   
local on the way to a nearby pub if he hadn’t been watching for the other man to come through the side   
entrance.  
  
While driving through the tightly winding streets of the old city, Remington shot a dirty look at his brother-  
in-law.  “You know I spoke with Abigail this morning.”  Murphy nodded, keeping his mouth firmly shut.    
He knew what was coming.  “How is it that these three sisters can keep each other informed of every   
little detail of their lives, yet I’m always the one that has to talk to their mother?”  
  
“Last one to get married gets the short straw.  Besides, she likes your accent.”  It was a dodge Murphy   
had used for two years and it still had legs.  
  
“We were married for nearly two months before you two tied the knot.”  And for two years, Remington   
had been using the same counter-argument.  
  
“That’s not how Abigail sees it.  If she wasn’t there, it didn’t happen.”  Murphy loved pointing out that   
fact time and again.  
  
Knowing he was right, Remington tried a new angle.  “I thought you were her current favorite son-in-  
law.  I’m not the one that presented her with twin grandsons last year.”  
  
“That was my get-out-of-jail-free card with her, not the I-have-to-be-the-bearer-of-whatever-news-needs-  
to-be-told card.  That one is permanently embossed with your name on it.”  
  
“One of these days, I’m going to have a serious discussion with the Holt sisters.”  
  
“Can I watch?  You’ll lose.  Donald will want to be there too.  We can take bets on how fast you go   
down.”  Steele made a short pithy remark that make Murphy laugh out loud.  
  
  
  
They drove.  It seemed every building rose four stories tall, punctuated by the occasional medieval abbey   
or modern office building.  Gloomy grey clouds hovered overhead, promising rain before the day was   
out.  The place they were looking for was wedged among a dozen other buildings, and Remington drove   
a couple of blocks away before finding a place to leave the car.  
  
Murphy wasn’t used to Steele’s chameleon ability to blend in, so it was a bit of a surprise to see him   
shuffle along the sidewalk.  In fact, Steele kept his head down and nibbled a thumbnail while they chatted  
about local pubs and decent pints of ale.  
  
When they found the flat, Murphy knocked on the door sharply.  Mumbles of "wait up, mate" and "be   
there in two shakes" could be heard, along with random cursing and banging.  Remington pressed flat   
against the wall next to the door.  When it opened, a bleary-eyed blond lad in his early twenties seemed   
startled to find Murphy standing there.  
  
“Hello, mate.  What can I do for ye today?” he said.  
  
Murphy smiled casually.  “Are you Sean Hennessy?”  
  
“Aye.  That would be me.”  
  
Murphy edged forward a bit, leaning against the doorframe so Hennessy wouldn’t look outside and see   
Remington.  He eyeballed the flat behind the lad, but it appeared to be empty.  “I’m looking into a   
problem for a friend, and I was hoping you might have some answers.”  
  
“Oh,” he paused, “that’d be okay.  Wha‘cha got?”  
  
“Does the name O’Callaghan mean anything to you?”  At that, sheer panic crossed Sean’s face, and he   
tried frantically to slam the door, but Murphy threw his football player’s build against it while Remington   
slid inside to grab the boy and shove him against his own living room wall.  
  
“Hello, Hennessey.  I hear you like to sing for O’Callaghan.  I think I’d like to hear you sing for me.”    
Steele’s dark and deadly tone caused Sean to blanche.  Murphy quietly shut the door behind him.  
  
Hennessey stuttered and sweated.  “I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
Steele shoved him a little higher on the wall.  “I’m Remington Steele and you nearly got my wife killed.    
Now--I’m going to put you down and you are going to answer my questions.  O’Callaghan’s not here to   
protect you, and you have every reason to be afraid of me.”  Remington released his grip with a shove.  
  
Hennessey staggered to the ratty old sofa and collapsed into a sitting position on the far end.  He placed   
his head in his hands.  “I’m sorry, sir, about what happened to your wife.  I ... I had no idea.  I thought   
you were dead.”  
  
“Who else at the hotel is passing information to O’Callaghan?” Steele demanded.  
  
“I don’t know.  All I can tell you is that a few weeks after I started, I got a call from this guy about a   
business opportunity.  I met him in the hotel bar and he laid it out for me.  He said he was a businessman   
and had his eye on the competition.  If he knew who was in town, it would give him a leg up.  He would   
give me a list of names to look out for, and if anyone on it ever booked or checked in, I was to give him   
a ring.”  
  
“What would you get in return?”  
  
“He paid me a couple of hundred pounds up front and another hundred pounds every few months just to   
keep me on tap.  It seemed harmless enough.”  
  
“Until. ...”  
  
“Until you checked in.  Then O’Callaghan told me to report every single thing you did, every call you   
made, every meal you ordered.  He said there would be a thousand pounds in it for me.  I told him I   
wouldn’t do it at first.”  
  
“Then what happened?”  
  
“He threatened to go to my manager and tell him I’ve been taking bribes under the table.  He ... he also   
said he had connections at UCC--that’s the college I go to, the University College Cork.  He said he   
would get me expelled for cheating.”  Sean hung his head.  “I can’t afford to lose either one.  I don’t   
know what to do.  What I did was wrong, though it seemed harmless enough until the thing with the car.”  
  
Remington crossed his arms and glanced at Murphy, who stepped in with his own questions.  “When was   
the last time you spoke to O’Callaghan?”  
  
“Yesterday morning, when I saw Mrs. Steele come through the lobby to meet up with him.”  He nodded   
at Mr. Steele.  
  
“How did you know it was them?”  
  
The boy flushed.  “’Tis my job to pay attention to people ... and the Steeles?  They just kind of ‘click.’    
I saw that click and knew it was them.”  
  
Murphy snorted.  The three of them steeped in silence for a few minutes.  The two brothers sized up the   
young man and decided that he was little more than a pawn in this game.  Like most college kids, he was   
relatively innocent of the darker ways of the world.  Remington spoke first, “Do you want out?”  There   
was a touch of sympathy in his voice for the boy.  
  
“Aye.  I do.  But I don’t know how to shake free.”  
  
“Then here is what we’ll do.  First, ask around your co-workers to find out who else is passing   
information along to O’Callaghan, so we know who we’re dealing with here.  Second, you’re only going   
to pass along information I want him to have.”  
  
Murphy added, “Leave a message for Mildred Krebs at the hotel if you need to talk to one of us.  It’s   
safe enough.”  
  
Steele leaned in close to Hennessey, letting his Irish brogue seep into his voice.  “Mate, I’m tellin’ ye   
now, you’re in waters too deep to swim in.  I’m your only lifeline in this.  Don’t cross me.  It’ll not be   
worth your while.”  The young man flinched and then nodded.  
  
Murphy backed up Steele.  “O’Callaghan is dirty business.  The kind that gets you dead when you cross   
him.  We won’t leave you stranded.  You keep giving him the information he wants, and we’ll make sure   
you don’t get anything you don’t need.  Understood?”  Hennessey nodded again.  
  
“Good.  Now, will you be willing to sign a statement explaining all this?” Murphy asked.  
  
The boy paled again.  “Do I have to?”  
  
“You owe it to my wife.”  Steele gave him an icy stare.  Sean nodded.  He fumbled through his study   
desk and found a sheet of paper.  In neat printing, he wrote out a brief summary of his association with   
O’Callaghan, signed it and dated it.  He hesitated before folding and handing over the paper to Steele.  
  
“I’ll give you this, mate,” Remington added, “I’ll keep your name out of it unless it becomes absolutely   
necessary.”  The boy nodded and Steele and Murphy left with an unspoken threat hanging in the air.  
  
Hennessey was left wondering why he ever thought hotel management would be intriguing.  Maybe it   
was time to find a new job.  It was a long time before he managed to drag himself off the sofa to get a   
bottle of beer from the fridge.  
  
  
  
Murphy watched Steele as they drove.  He could see the strain in his friend’s face.  Glancing at his   
watch, he commented, “It’s only two.  Let’s go take a load off before we go back to the hotel.”  
  
Remington gave him a hard, quizzical look.  “You want to take a break now?  We don’t have time for   
that, Michaels.  Laura--“  
  
“Laura is probably sleeping.  The best thing for her right now is to have time to recover.  You need to get   
your head in the game.  You nearly decked that kid, and he’s just a pawn in all this.”  Steele’s hands   
tightened on the steering wheel.  “Find a bar.  You can kick my ass at pool and get your head on straight.”  
  
A ghost of a half-smile crossed Steele’s face, and he turned the car around.  “Aye, mate.”  He drove to a   
seedy little tavern wedged into the back of an alley in the more questionable part of town.  
  
At the bar, Steele looked Michaels up and down.  “Going to drink like a real man and have a Guinness or   
are you going to be an American pansy and sip Harp?”  Murphy muttered a filthy curse and ordered two   
pints of Guinness from the bar while Steele scoped out a pool table.  Come hell or high water, he would   
choke the thing down.  
  
By the time he worked his way through the crowd in the dark and dingy room, wondering in the process   
why all these people were at the bar on a Thursday afternoon, his brother-in-law was already chalking a   
cue.  He’d handily beaten the previous player and claimed the table for his own.  
  
Murphy set the drinks on a side table and found his own stick.  Graciously, Steele allowed him to break.    
Graciously, because it was probably the only shot he would get for the whole game.  Sure enough, when   
he missed his second shot, Remington proceeded to drop ball after ball into the pockets.  It wasn’t long   
before a small crowd gathered to watch him play.  In the background, Murphy could hear the whispers   
starting.  
  
“ ‘Tis Mick, Mick O’Leary.”  
  
“No way.  Mick’s been gone for half a decade now.”  
  
“I’m telling ye--tha’s Mick.  Wait until he looks up.  Ye can’t miss those eyes.  Icy cold blue, they are.”  
  
Murphy didn’t know if Steele heard that last remark, but he looked up just then and let his eyes scan the   
crowd and pin one of the watchers.  “Gotta smoke?”  The young man straightened and flipped him a   
cigarette.  Steele took a second to light it and take a deep drag before taking his next shot, sending two   
balls into opposite pockets.  Wisps of smoke spiraled around the yellowed light hanging over the table.  
  
As he banked the last ball and watched it roll across the table to drop with a resounding "thunk," a cocky   
little snot of about twenty-five dropped a fifty-pound note on the table.  Steele just looked at him and   
waited.  “Think you’re good?  I’m better,” the kid sneered.  Murphy heard the sudden mutterings of the   
crowd behind him.  Apparently, the kid was a pretty decent player, but he’d challenged Mick O’Leary.    
There were a couple of short, vicious debates over the odds.  
  
Steele cocked his head and took another drag from the cigarette.  “Aye, mate.  Fifty a ball.”  Casually, he   
drank his pint and set it back on the table. “Blackball.  I’ll rack; you break.”  That was an insult, rather   
like giving a chess player the white pieces.  The better player always takes black and plays second.  
  
The kid sneered again and didn’t let his sudden worry show.  He’d planned fifty for the game.  Fifty a   
ball could get expensive.  Summoning up his bravado, he nodded his head with another wide grin on his   
face.  
  
Steele looked up at Murphy, and with a small smile, shook his own head.  The whole crowd caught it   
and a ripple of laughter could be heard.  The kid’s face hardened.  Murphy could hear bets being placed   
behind him.  The one waitress in the bar sidled up to Murphy.  “You know him?” she nodded toward   
Steele.  
  
“Sure.  He’s my brother-in-law.”  
  
“I didn’t know Mick had any family.”  
  
“Our wives are sisters.”  
  
“Mick is married?”  She said it a little too loudly, and the crowd erupted into whispers and more muttered  
comments.  Steele only smiled as he heard the remark and watched the kid sink a couple of balls on the   
break and three more before missing a difficult bank shot.  
  
After that, he didn’t have a chance.  Murphy could see Steele was showing off for the crowd, never   
taking an easy shot when a tricky one would do.  When the last ball dropped into the pocket, the crowd   
broke into cheers and clapping, with a few detractors bemoaning their losses.  The other player snarled   
and threw his cue stick on the table.  He started to leave, but Steele caught him by the shoulder.  “I   
dropped five balls over you, mate.  Pay up.”  
  
In response, the arrogant young pup spun around and threw a punch.  Steele caught his wrist before it   
could connect and used a foot to trip him up so that the young man landed hard on the floor.  “‘Tis Mick   
O’Leary you’re messing with, boy.  I don’t take being cheated lightly.  Maybe next time you’ll find out   
who you’re taking on before you lay a bet.”  
  
Reluctantly, the young man got up and reached for his wallet.  He laid two hundred on the table.  “It’s all   
I’ve got.”  
  
Steele tossed the money back at him--another insult.  “I don’t need your cash.  Cover my bill and get   
out.”  He turned his back and didn’t bother watching his defeated opponent make his way to the bar and   
lay money on it.  A couple of men who won easy money on the game clapped him on the shoulder and   
shook his hand.  
  
Remington waved them off with a smile and propped up against the tiny table holding his pint while he   
watched Murphy take on another opponent.  He would never admit that his brother-in-law was actually a   
fairly decent player.  But Murphy hadn’t grown up needing to win a game so he could afford a meal.    
Breathing in the smoke that filled the little bar, he had a sudden desire for another cigarette and squelched  
it.  Laura didn’t like him smoking.  She never said anything about it, only asking that he confine his   
occasional cigar to his own office when he first started at the agency.  But he had noticed long ago that   
she was much freer with her kisses when he hadn’t been smoking that day.  
  
Thinking of her made him frown.  He stared into his glass while sordid images from his youth filtered into   
his thoughts and reminded him of the promises to himself he had broken that awful night with Laura.    
Shaking his head, he forced those dark visions into the background and closed the door on them.  “Six in   
the corner pocket, Murph.”  
  
The detective looked up.  “I can’t make that shot.”  
  
“Sure you can.  If you try for the three, you’ll bounce it off the wall and scratch.”  Murphy rounded the   
table and took his recommendation, successfully sinking the ball.  The cue ball rolled into a perfect   
position, and he was able to drop a second ball as well.  
  
Murphy’s opponent shot Steele a sour look.  “The Yank doesn’t need your help, O’Leary.  He’s already   
kicking me ass.”  
  
“Aye, I’m just helping him do a better job of it.”  He lifted his glass in a mock toast.  “Can’t have a lousy   
pool player in the family.”  
  
“Lousy, my ass, Steele,” Murphy muttered under his breath.  He sank his third ball in a row, finishing the   
game with flair.  He held out his hand to the Irishman who’d offered to play him.  The other man took it   
and grinned.  
  
“Me thanks, mate.  I’ll stand ye another pint at the bar.”  He turned and blended in to the crowd.  
  
Murphy rolled his eyes as Steele watched and commented sardonically, “Great.  Why your countrymen   
think beer should taste like motor oil is beyond me.  And now I get to choke down a second glass of it.”  
  
Remington scratched his nose.  “Just because you have to drink that nasty, weak American stuff you call   
beer isn’t any reason to insult a decent glass of ale.  Puts hair on your chest.”  
  
Comically, Murphy threw a mock-punch at Steele, who ducked and laughed outright before holding his   
hand out.  “Thanks, brother.  You’re right; I needed this.”  
  
“Good.  Now let’s get out of here before I have to drink any more of this swill.”  
  
  
  
The two men returned to the hotel to find Mildred attempting to help Laura to the bathroom without   
putting weight on her injured leg.  They were giggling madly in between Laura’s yelps and groans.  
  
Laura did a double take at Remington’s outfit.  “Slumming, love?”  She caught Murphy looking in from   
the doorway and could smell the beer and smoke from across the room.  “What have you two been up   
to?”  
  
Her husband flashed a smile at her.  “Just having a bit of conversation.  I figured Murphy ought to have a   
chance to charm the ladies by turning down my own stunning nature a notch or two.”  
  
Murphy rolled his eyes at Remington’s wry humor and handed Laura a pair of crutches the two men   
picked up on their way home.  “Laura, haven’t you trained him out of that yet?  Besides, I might remind   
you, Steele, it took a lot less time for me to hunt down my bride and convince her to marry me than it   
did for you to con Laura into the same.  I’m not sure if that’s my good looks or my inborn charisma, but   
whatever it was, it worked.”  
  
Steele started to reply, but Mildred quipped, "My, my, my!  Such a lot of guns around town and so few   
brains."  
  
“The Big Sleep, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Warner Brothers, 1946,” Remington automatically   
recited.  
  
“Ah, I see you haven’t trained him out of that either.”  Murphy rolled his eyes and left the room to make   
a phone call before Steele could do anymore than shoot another dirty look after him.  
  
The girls laughed at Remington’s expense.  Steele arched a brow at both of them, and Mildred turned   
away chuckling, “I’ll get dinner ordered.  We’re having tortellini.”  
  
  
  
Over dinner, the men filled in Mildred and Laura on their discussion with Hennessey, and then they   
brought Laura up to speed about Rory Malone.  “I need to talk with him, Laura,” Remington said simply.  
  
She nodded in agreement.  “You’ll take Murphy?”  
  
“Yes, if you’ll manage without me for the better part of tomorrow.”  He glanced up at the man.  “Did   
you get the appointment?”  
  
Murphy nodded.  “One-thirty.  Our flight leaves at nine.  That gives us a couple of hours to get the lay of   
the land before we go into meet him.  He thinks I’m buying a rock for my wife.  I told him I might bring   
a pal that’s knowledgeable in these things, so he won’t be surprised when two of us show up.”  
  
“When will you be back?”  That was from Laura.  
  
“Our flight is scheduled to leave at six.  We should be back by eight or so.”  He didn’t miss Laura’s   
forlorn grimace, but still couldn’t bring himself to stroke her hair or even pat her hand in comfort.  
  
“What do you think you’ll find out, Chief?” Mildred wondered.  
  
“I don’t know.  With luck, we’ll pass it through Hennessey that I’m on my way to Dublin.  Hopefully, O’  
Callaghan will think I’m following through with the theft so he’ll leave Laura alone.”  He tapped his   
fingers absentmindedly on the table.  “Did you find anything in all those records?” he asked Mildred.  
  
“I’ve got a good look at his books, but I may have a good deal more from his day planner.  I think I’d   
like to visit a couple of the names on that disk and see if O’Callaghan’s shaking them down.  If he is, we   
might be able to start cracking this thing open.”  Mildred raised her eyebrows.  “One thing, Boss, it would  
be helpful if we knew whether or not the local _gardaí_ is involved with him or not.  When it is time to   
arrest him, we ought to know whom to call.”  They had deliberately kept the local police out of the loop   
on this one, and their time was running out.  
  
Remington shifted his gaze to Laura.  She drew in a deep breath as she caught on to his line of thinking.  
  
“Chief?”  
  
“Interpol.  Interpol probably has a dossier three feet deep on O’Callaghan.  The Dublin Six has fingers all   
over Europe--mostly in Dublin, but it’s not possible to keep it just inside the borders of Ireland,”   
Remington stated.  
  
“But how do we keep you out of it?” Mildred asked.  She knew quite a bit about Mr. Steele’s shady   
past, and she was sure Interpol had a fairly hefty file on him, too, or maybe even five or ten smaller ones.  
  
“We don’t.”  Laura spoke in soft but firm tones.  
  
“You’re sure?” Remington asked.  
  
“I think we have bigger fish to fry, Mr. Steele.”  Remington leaned back in his chair, frowning.  Mildred   
and Murphy both looked on in confusion.  
  
“Laura, if this doesn’t work, we could lose the agency.”  
  
“What good will it do us if we’re dead?”  
  
  
  
After dinner, Mildred made contact with one of the names on the list and then questioned the remaining   
concierges under Murphy’s watchful eye.  Later, Murphy met with the local _gardaí_ and tried to ascertain   
exactly what they already knew.  
  
In the Presidential Suite, Remington paced in the living room as Laura spoke on the telephone.  “Yes,   
yes, my name is Laura Holt.”  She threw a quick apologetic glance at her husband.  “I need Agent Brian   
Peterson. ...  I don’t know what department.  Can you look him up? ...  No, I can’t tell you what this is   
about.  I was directed to speak only to him.”  Laura waited long minutes as she was transferred several   
times and repeated herself.  
  
Remington nervously chewed on his thumbnail.  
  
His wife sat straight up in her chair.  “Agent Peterson?  Thank you for taking my call.  Yes, I know it’s   
late, but I have information I think you’ll be interested in.”  She listened for a moment and continued.     
“I’m a private investigator from Los Angeles.  I have a client with some information for you, but I cannot   
pass it along unless I can have some guarantees that charges won’t be brought against him.”  
  
Her tone hardened.  “Yes, I know that it’s standard procedure, but does the name Denis O’Callaghan   
mean anything to you?  Or the Dublin Six? ...  Yes, yes, I thought it would.  My client is being coerced   
into committing a high-dollar property crime by O’Callaghan in ten days. ...  Yes, I believe him and I   
have quite a bit of evidence of the coercion.”  She grimaced and absentmindedly rubbed her knee.  
  
“I’m asking for full immunity for any past property thefts, identity thefts or scams run by this individual.   
...  Yes, I’m quite serious.  In exchange, we’ll bring you in on this case and Interpol can have the credit.    
Would it help if we--I told you I know where O’Callaghan is currently based and that I have a bag full of   
disks and files from his office?  I’ve got him cold on two kidnappings and I’ve already linked one name   
and possibly others to a blackmail scam? ...  Ah, it’s nice to know I have your attention.”  
  
That little tidbit came from Mildred’s conversation just an hour earlier.  The businessman was more than   
happy that someone was looking into O’Callaghan’s activities and gave Mildred whatever information she   
wanted.  
  
“Yes, I know I’m in over my head.  Why do you think I called you? …  No, I won’t disclose any more   
information on my client unless I’m guaranteed that he will be granted immunity. ...  No, no murders, no   
rapes, no physical violence at all--well, nothing serious anyway.  Just a theft here and there and the   
occasional con.  No, no drugs or guns. ...  Last one was at least five years ago.  If I can’t guarantee it,    
he’ll go underground and we’ll both be left holding the bag.”  
  
“Yes, I know I’m asking a lot. ...  All right, I’ve got one more for you.”  She reached out blindly for   
Remington’s hand, which he grasped this time.  “I have a tape of a rape with O’Callaghan on it, ordering   
it to be done.  He watched the whole time. ...  Yes, the victim is willing to testify.”  Remington squeezed   
her hand while she shuddered.  “You’ll grant immunity?  For any and all charges? ...  Then how soon   
can you get to Cork? ...  Saturday morning, got it.  Yes, it will hold until then, but not much longer.  I’ll   
call you within fifteen minutes with our meeting place.  Let me write down the number. ...  Thank you,   
Mr. Peterson.”  She hung up the phone and made arrangements for their meeting before calling Peterson   
back on his private line.  
  
“Saturday, 10 a.m.  The Kingsley.  We’ll be in a private dining room under the name Holt.  H-O-L-T.”    
She clicked off the phone and leaned back heavily in her chair.  Looking up at her husband, she   
frowned.  “It’s done.  Full immunity.  He’ll bring the documents with him.”  
  
Remington shook his head.  “Laura, first you give me a name, then a home, and now you’re clearing the   
slate for me.  Keep this up and I’ll find out I’m a daddy with a white picket fence and a nine-to-five job   
like every other John Jones in the neighborhood.”  He drew her carefully to her feet and balanced her in   
his arms.  “Don’t think I don’t know how hard this will be for you, Laura.  I know Peterson will need to   
see the tape.”  He tipped her chin up.  “We’ll do this together.”  
  
She rested her head on his chest, wearied by the stress and worry of it all.  A dull thrum had begun   
beating her skull.  After a brief hesitation, he put his arms around her.  As always, the scent of her hair   
soothed him like no other aromatherapy in the world.  
  
The door opened.  “Hiya, kids,” Mildred sang out cheerfully.  She loved catching the Steeles together.  
  
The couple smiled half-heartedly and Laura broke the embrace.  “Mr. Steele, I think I’ll let you give our   
friends the details.  I’m going to take a bath.”  
  
“I’ll alert the media.”  Remington grinned at her confusion.  “Arthur, Dudley Moore, Liza Minnelli, Orion   
Pictures, 1981.”  She swatted at him before hobbling away on the crutches.

 

 


	17. Diamonds

Steele despised early mornings.  The only thing worse than getting up in the wee hours of the day was   
leaving a comfortable bed and a warm wife in the process.  He slapped off the buzzing alarm before it   
woke Laura.  As always, he snapped awake; too many years of needing to run taught him to rouse fully   
alert.  Only on very rare occasions did he stir slowly, and it generally involved his wife seducing him.  
  
He found Laura snuggled up to his back with one arm draped across his chest and a leg twined with his.    
He thought she must be feeling quite a bit better to lie like that.  He loved waking with her this way, even   
better when it wasn’t five in the morning.  Easing out of bed, he padded in the darkness to the bathroom.  
  
She was long asleep last night when he managed to relax enough to get between the covers.  He had   
rolled on his side and watched her, wondering when he would be able to look at her without having   
visions of that awful night.  Somehow she knew he was there and, in her sleep, had stretched out a hand   
seeking him.  He covered hers with his own.  Comforted in spite of himself, he slept until morning.  
  
  
Laura woke moments later as the shower came on.  She glanced at the clock and grimaced at the time.    
Remington hated mornings--except when he managed to sneak into the office before she did.  Then he   
loved poking fun at her for being late.  
  
The last time that happened, Remington had kept her up late on a Sunday night, after an entire weekend   
spent staking out an office building, eating fast food and sleeping in the car.  Since that didn’t play into   
his idea of a romantic interlude--at least not on a busy side street of LA--he made up for it with a grand   
feast that evening, both of food and body.  She woke that next morning at nearly eleven with a rose on   
her pillow.  She had to endure his supercilious smirks at the office for the rest of the day, and even   
Mildred giggled at her expense.  
  
Smiling at the memory, Laura eased out of bed and grabbed for the crutches.  By the time she made it to   
the bathroom, Remington had shut off the shower and was toweling himself dry.  “Ah, love, I was   
hoping not to wake you.”    
  
“That’s all right.  I’d rather not miss your leaving.”  He quirked a smile at her and wrapped the towel   
around his waist.  She leaned against the door, propped herself on the crutches and watched him shave.    
When he finished, he picked her up and set her on the counter so he could explore each of her injuries   
much as he had the day before--only this time she looked much better.  
  
The swelling was gone from her face, and the perpetual headache caused by the concussion had faded,   
easing the lines from her forehead and allowing the glaze to disappear from her eyes.  Her nose still had   
to be taped while it healed, but the bruises were now entirely green and yellow.  It made for a   
Technicolor effect, but at least she was healing and her face had resumed normal proportions.  
  
It was the same on her body.  The contusions covering her front and back were changing colors and   
beginning to lighten.  Her ribs still hurt, but as long as she kept them supported, the pain was bearable.    
Both her hands and feet were pink with new skin and healing well.  She left her fingers uncovered for the   
first time.  “Another few days, darling, and you’ll be as good as new.”  
  
She smiled at him and gave him a small shove.  “Go get dressed.  You don’t want to be late and give   
Murphy a reason to rib you.”  
  
His eyes twinkled.  “Aye, love.  That would not be the thing.”  Today, he opted for one of his Brooks   
Brothers grey suits.  He wanted to impress and, perhaps, intimidate Malone.  He couldn’t do that in his   
"Michael O’ Leary" persona, but as Remington Steele?  A cinch.  
  
Laura needlessly straightened his tie and brushed her fingers through the lock of hair that perpetually   
dipped over his forehead.  As always, it fell perfectly into place.  He grinned at the roll of her eyes and   
lifted her off the counter.  She waved him off and followed him into the bedroom on her crutches, where   
she watched him tuck a new wallet with his warped driver's license into his suit coat for the short flight.  
  
At last, Remington curved his hand around her cheek.  He tried to cover his momentary hesitation before   
touching lips to hers, but Laura noticed anyway and hid her dismay.  
  
She propped up against the door frame until she heard the two men leave through the front door.  Then   
she did something she only did when she was scared and lonely.  In their shared closet, she found a white   
dress shirt Remington had rehung until it could be cleaned and pressed properly.  She plucked it from the   
hanger and buried her face in it, breathing in his lingering scent.  Shedding her short nightgown, she   
pulled on his shirt, managing only a couple of buttons and haphazardly rolling up the sleeves.  She   
crawled back into bed and put her head on his pillow.  With the covers pulled up to her neck, she slept   
fitfully.  
  
Remington never knew that long before they were married, she had hidden one of his shirts in her loft   
and wore it the same way--many, many times since the night her house was destroyed years ago and he'd   
offered her the clothes from his own closet.  
  
  
  
On the way out of the hotel, Remington made a point of stopping by the concierge desk.  Without being   
obvious, he approached Sean.  “Good morning, mate.  Would you be so kind as to call a cab for me?”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  Sean swallowed nervously.  He pressed a button and made the request.  
  
“Excellent.  I have a flight to Dublin to catch shortly and I’d rather not be late.  My thanks.”  Steele   
lasered his eyes at Sean.  “And mate, if there are any messages while I’m out, you’ll not disturb my wife   
with them.  Aye?”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  Sean read that one loud and clear.  
  
  
  
 _Sir, Mr. Steele caught a flight to Dublin this morning.  Early.  
  
Excellent.  Did he mention when he’ll return?  
  
No, sir.  But I’ll be sure to let you know when he does.  
  
Good job, lad.  I’ll have a bonus for you next time.  
  
  
  
_During the short flight, Murphy regaled Steele with the crazy twists and turns of one of his latest cases.    
“Kate nearly strangled me, being gone for three days.  Aiden was teething, so he wasn’t sleeping much at   
all, and Ian had a fever.  She looked like death warmed over when I got home.”  
  
“I imagine you didn’t tell her that, mate?”  
  
“Nooooooo,” Murphy drew that out nice and long.  “I was hoping to get cozy with my wife that night.    
Let’s just say I had to do some serious damage control before that was going to happen.”  
  
In past years, the conversation might have bored Remington, but now--it seemed he had a vested interest   
in listening.  “So, what did you do?”  
  
Murphy shook his head.  “You really want to know?  Come on, Steele, you don’t want to hear more   
about my wife and kids.”  
  
“Actually, I think I do.”  Remington took a sip of his water.  
  
Murphy gave him a curious look.  He recalled what Laura told him shortly after her marriage, that   
Remington had no family and had never experienced much of a “normal” life.  “Okay, just remember,   
you asked.”  He drank his soft drink.  “When I got home, Kate was seriously frazzled, so I called in   
dinner and asked her to go pick it up.  That’s a great way to get her out of the house long enough to cool   
off and have a few minutes without one of the boys hanging all over her.  Aiden was cranky so I let him   
chew on a washcloth, and Ian just wanted to be held.  The boys and I watched one of their videos until   
Kate got home with dinner.  I gotta tell you, all of them were in better moods when she got back.”  
  
He snorted.  “That week is what prompted us to get a nanny.  She helps with the housekeeping and   
making dinner so Kate has time with the kids.  She’s a great extra set of hands when I can’t be there.  I   
don’t know how single parents do it at all.”  
  
Remington looked a little dazed at Murphy’s description.  He could easily see himself doing all of that.    
He made a firm mental note about the nanny and refocused his attention when his friend kept talking.     
“It’s different when kids come along.  Your time isn’t your own anymore.  Used to be, Kate would meet   
me at a bar after work, and we could kill an evening just talking or catching a ball game.  We both love   
sports, so I can’t count how many times we shared a beer and nachos watching the Broncos at some   
seedy sports bar near our apartment.”  
  
“But once the twins arrived, everything changed.  You’ve got to get home and get a decent meal on the   
table for them, play with them, talk to them, put them into bed.  And then you still have to do the   
laundry, wash the dishes and pay the bills before you get time to snuggle up to your wife.  And that’s   
assuming that the baby’s not nursing, needs a diaper change or that your toddler actually stays in his own   
bed for once.  Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever get our privacy back.”  
  
“Is it worth it?”  
  
Murphy looked at Remington for a long time before answering, “Yes.  It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever   
done.  But the fact that Kate’s doing it with me makes it worth everything.  My family means the world   
to me.”  
  
  
  
While the men winged their way to Dublin, Laura rubbed her gritty eyes.  The past few hours had been   
filled with nightmares of car explosions and plane crashes, all layered in with the agony she felt when she  
thought Remington was dead.  After each horrible dream, Laura would wake in tears only to find the bed   
empty time and again.  
  
The whole setup with the car bomb played on her deepest fears of abandonment.  It made her angry   
because she had fought hard to accept that Remington loved her unconditionally and wasn’t about to   
leave for any reason.  It also didn’t help that she realized he was having a hard time touching her, even   
casually.  
  
By the time they were married, Laura had become accustomed to his constant fiddling with her hair, the   
kisses on her fingers, and the thousand other ways he touched her during the course of the day.  And    
she’d quickly found herself returning the little caresses.  Ironically, instead of distracting her at the office,   
it was a way to acknowledge the love and desire they had for each other while keeping their professional   
demeanor.  It was a hallmark of their relationship, whether in public or in private, and was usually one of   
the first things other people commented on whenever the Steeles appeared together.  
  
She didn’t think Remington had caught on to the fact that she could divine his moods by his hands.  Any   
time he struggled with his emotions, he had a tendency to withdraw those caresses.  For him to stop   
completely meant that he was seriously hurting inside.  
  
At seven-fifteen, she gave up and dragged herself from the bed.  It took over an hour to shower and   
dress.  Several times she had to stop and wait while the pain subsided in some part of her body.  First,   
she bumped her nose while scrubbing her face, and then she lost her balance in the shower and put too   
much weight on her knee.  By the time she wrapped up in a towel, she was miserable and sore.  
  
Mildred knocked on the door but opened it without waiting for an answer.  “Laura?  Are you dressed?”  
  
“Sort of,” came the reply.  With one crutch, Laura prodded the door open.  She looked pathetic holding a   
bra and balancing on one foot, all the while trying to keep her towel in place.  
  
Mildred’s brows shot up.  “Looks like you need some help.”  She waited a beat.  
  
Sheepishly, Laura admitted, “Yes, I do.  Will you help me, Mildred?”  
  
Mildred bit her bottom lip while she fastened Laura’s bra and wrapped her middle with an Ace bandage.    
The younger woman’s whole torso was covered in yellowing marks.  “What do you want to wear   
today?” Mildred asked.  
  
“Something other than pajamas,” Laura said firmly.  Using the crutches, she made her way to the closet   
and pulled down a pair of navy slacks with an elastic waistband and one of Rei’s white dress shirts.  She   
sat on the vanity bench and pulled the slacks on, then waited patiently as Mildred buttoned up the shirt   
and rolled up the sleeves.  
  
“Isn’t that one of Mr. Steele’s shirts?”  
  
“It is.  It’s looser and more comfortable that anything I have.”  
  
Mildred nodded and didn’t say anything.  She knew Laura better than that.  
  
Laura surprised her with a brief hug.  “Thank you.  For everything.”  
  
“Aww, pshh.  You know I would do anything for my kids.”  
  
“I know, but thank you all the same.”  
  
Mildred patted her cheek and looked her over.  “You going to be okay, kiddo?”  
  
“I think so.  I’ll brush my hair and be out in a few minutes.”  
  
The two women spent the day pouring over the data Mildred had gathered.  They bounced theories back   
and forth and tried to understand what O’Callaghan was after.  Laura glanced at the clock every few   
minutes, counting them down until Remington returned.  
  
  
  
That afternoon the two men pressed a little buzzer on Malone’s office door.  They heard the snick of the   
lock being released and a voice from inside telling them to come in.  They stepped into a tiny room with   
only a surveillance camera, a microphone and a speaker.  “Good afternoon.  Is Mr. Malone expecting   
you?” a musical young voice asked.  
  
“Yes, ma’am.  Michael Murphy and my friend, Steele.  We have an appointment with Mr. Malone.”  
  
“Yes, sir.  I’ll buzz you through.”  Another snick of the lock and the door swung open automatically,   
revealing the men to the receptionist.  
  
At first glance, her mouth fell open slightly.  It wasn’t every day a blond-haired, broad-shouldered god   
and a wiry, black-haired angel graced her office.  Both men screamed elegance and money with their   
custom-made suits and quiet demeanor.  She turned up the little fan on her desk a notch and watched   
their gorgeous backsides on their way into Malone’s office.  She would love to see those butts in a great   
pair of jeans.  Too bad they both wore wedding rings.  
  
Neither man missed the lady’s reaction.  They carefully hid small smiles as they took in the layout of the   
workplace and its security details on their way to the private inner office.  
  
Malone stood as they walked in.  “Hello, gentleman.  Rory, Rory Malone.  Have a seat.”  Short and wiry   
himself, he sported a thinning head of dark hair and a quick smile.  He wore a store-bought suit and a   
few pieces of well-crafted, if heavy, jewelry.  
  
Murphy held out his hand.  “Michael, Michael Murphy.”     
  
Rory shook his hand.  “Ah, yes, you’re the one who called.  A bauble for ye wife, ye said.  And who’s   
your friend, mate?”  Rory shifted his hand and his gaze to Remington, who held out his right hand while   
tucking his left into his pocket.  
  
Malone held Steele’s grip, staring into the other man’s piercing blue eyes.  He hesitated and then   
breathed, “Fuck me.  Mick O’Leary at me doorstep.”  He sat down hard.  The two detectives sat across   
from him, and the three men assessed each other across the broad desk.  
  
“What gives, Mick?  What brings you to me after near a decade?”  Malone fiddled nervously with the   
buttons on his coat, noticed it, then rested his hands on his desk.  “I--I’m clean now, mate.  Haven’t   
pulled a scam in a while.  Got a couple of children, ye know?”  He waved at a picture on his desk.  He   
took further note of Mick’s obviously expensive suit.  Lady Luck had always been kind to the thief,   
sometimes unfairly so.  
  
Steele threw him an icy smile.  “Just want a bit of information, mate.  Nothing hard.”  He propped his   
foot onto his knee in studied casualness.  “Denis O’Callaghan wants me to lift a rock from you.  I want   
to know why.”  
  
“O’Callaghan.  Holy fuck!  I don’t need to be crossing the Six.  I’m wantin' no part of this, Mick.”  He   
started panicking.  “Whatever you want to leave me alone, you can have it.”  
  
Remington uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, placing his clasped hands on the desk.  “Relax,   
Malone.  I’m not here for your stock.  I’m here because O’Callaghan threatened my wife.  He thinks you   
have an uncut red diamond here.  He wants it.  I want to know why.”  He allowed a small bit of Irish to   
seep into his voice to set Rory’s mind at ease.  
  
As a matter of habit, Malone’s eye skimmed over Steele’s jewelry so it was mere seconds before Rory   
threw his head back and began laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.  He shook his head and waggled   
his finger at Remington.  “You brazen buggerin' bastard.  Ten years since ye lifted those bloody rocks   
from me place and you come waltzin' in here wearin' one of ‘em.”  He caught Steele’s left hand and   
examined the stone with a loupe.  “Damn ye.  Those were hell to come by too.  Nice setting.  I imagine   
yer lass is wearin' t’other pair?”  Rory grinned.  
  
Murphy frowned.  He knew the story and assumed Rory would be furious with Steele’s theft.  Instead,   
they were smiling and carrying on as friends.  
  
Rory caught his expression and explained, “Don’t fret.  I shorted Mick ‘ere.  I needed the cash and I   
hoped he would pick a different gem or two to make up the loss.  I should’ve known a master thief such   
as he would find me finest, rarest stones and pocket them for his own use.  He even stole the papers with   
it.  Me own arrogance did me in, thinkin' I could hide them from ‘im.  Cost me a fortune.”  
  
He shifted his attention back to Steele.  “Ye know, the insurance company called me a few years back   
when ye insured them to check the provenance.  They sent me your driver’s license.  Can’t miss your   
pretty face, so ye owe me fer that.”  
  
“Aye, I do.”  Steele nodded.  
  
Rory snapped his fingers.  “Steele ... Remington Steele is the name ye went by.”  
  
Steele nodded again.  “That is my name.”  Rory raised his eyebrows, but Remington continued, “Now,   
what do you know about this stone O’Callaghan wants.”  
  
Malone assessed the two men.  “I’ll make ye a deal, Mick.  Ye figure out if I have it, and I’ll tell ye what   
I know.  If ye can’t do it, we shake hands and part friends.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Thirty minutes.”  
  
Remington shot Murphy a wide smile, then glanced back at Malone.  “Done.”  He gave Malone’s office   
a quick once over while the other detective began sizing up the security system.  He decided to start with   
charming the receptionist.  
  
He wandered out to the front desk alone, giving the young lady the excuse that he didn’t want to interfere   
with his friend’s negotiations.  Several pretty gems and pieces of jewelry were on display in locked cases   
around her office.  The effect was simple, elegant and would impress many a young couple picking out   
engagement rings.  While the girl pointed out the various features of the stones, Remington began asking   
her about more unusual stones such as canary and pink diamonds.  She dropped her eyes down and to   
the right before giving him an intelligent explanation for the phenomenon that created them.  
  
Moments later, Steele found an excuse to leave her office to explore the rest of the office suite.  With the   
reception area at one end and Malone’s office at the other, the hallway was flanked by two small rooms.    
As he walked into the passageway, Murphy held up seven fingers.  “All set.  Your turn.”  
  
It only took four minutes for Steele to uncover the safe in the tiny storeroom.  He had it popped open in   
another two.  But no red diamond.  Steele smiled.  This was the decoy safe.  It held a few showy stones   
and a pretty bracelet.  He pocketed the bracelet and shut the door.  
  
He called Malone into the reception area.  “Tell her what I’m doing.”  While Rory made his explanations,   
Steele skimmed fingers over every surface in her office, shifting pieces of furniture and rocking others.    
In the back corner behind a file cabinet, he found it.  The baseboard didn’t quite meet the floor as if the   
caulk was missing from the bottom edge.  Using his lockpick, Steele tickled a catch in that slot, lifting it   
up so one of the wooden planks in the floor would shift backward a mere half a centimeter.  
  
Malone and Murphy strolled over to watch Remington shift a second plank toward the first, then pry that   
board up until it stood at a ninety-degree angle--revealing a black floor safe with blinking green lights.    
Steele spun the combination lock, listening to the ticks and clicks inside.  At the last quiet sound, he   
flashed a grin at the receptionist and turned the handle.  Buried inside was a carefully wrapped chunk of   
ore and several stunning pieces of jewelry.  When he pulled the silk from the rock and held it up, winking   
flashes of red sparkled in the light.  He made a show of looking at his watch.  “Twenty-two and a half   
minutes.”  
  
“Bugger me, Mick.  How’d ye know?”  
  
Steele shut the safe and concealed it again before he stood and fished a card out of his wallet.  He handed   
it to Malone.  “Remington Steele Investigations.  Among other things, we handle private security   
arrangements for a number of museums and individuals.”    
  
Laughter pealed through the office.  “Talk about puttin' the fox in the bloody henhouse.”  Malone turned   
red in the face as he mopped the tears from his eyes.  “Come; let’s talk.”  He waved both men into his   
office again.  
  
“Why does everyone have that reaction?” Steele murmured to Murphy as he turned the raw ore over in   
his hands.  
  
Rory poured each of them a glass of Irish whiskey before they took their seats again.  “How did ye know   
‘bout the floor safe?” he asked again.  
  
Steele nipped the jeweler’s loupe off Malone’s desk and examined the rock in detail.  Absent-mindedly   
he answered, “More electronics than objects.  The front door, your window and two air conditioning   
vents make four sets of contacts.  The safe in your office--I’ll assume you have one because I know you   
like to keep the bulk of your gems close--and the dummy safe in the storage room only make six.  You   
have seven sets of electronics on your board, so we knew you had an additional safe hidden somewhere.    
It has to be somewhere close to a wall or a floor so it can be hardwired into the circuitry.”  Steele waved   
toward Murphy.  “Since both of us install these systems as a part of our work, we both know how to   
bypass them on the panel.”  
  
“But the floor?”  
  
“Well, we’ll call that a lucky break, eh?”  Remington lifted his glass in a mock toast before becoming   
quite serious.  “Malone, help me out here, and I’ll set up a system that no one else can compromise.  It   
won’t require much, just some clever thinking.”  He handed the loupe and the chunk of ore to Murphy.  
  
Murphy was startled to realize he could be holding something like two million dollars in his hand.  
  
Rory was staring at his desk, tracing patterns in the wet rings left by the drink.  Finally he said, “Aye   
mate.  I’m tellin’ ye because I’ve a feeling you’re playing straight with me.  Ye always have. ‘Tis a fact   
ye built a fair reputation for gettin’ the job done as ye say ye will.  O’Callaghan’s not the most stable o’   
the Six any more.  Last few years, rumor has it he’s gone a bit loony.  Even the rest o’ the Six tend not   
to have much to do with him.”  
  
“How’s that affecting his cash flow?”  
  
“Hmm, hadn’t thought about that.  Don’t know.”  
  
“So tell me about the diamond.”  Remington took it back from Murphy and waved it in the air.  “What   
does O’Callaghan want with a chunk of red diamond that’s so obviously flawed?”  
  
“Now that, mate, is the million dollar question.”  
  
“Flawed?” asked Murphy.  “How can you tell?”  
  
“Practice.”  Steele was curt.  “I thought you purchased it at auction?”  
  
“I did.  ‘Twas quite well-publicized.  But afterwards, I had three different cutters look at the stone, and   
they all said it couldn’t be cut.  ‘Tis possible that a small unflawed area might be hiding inside, but ‘tis   
only a quarter caret at best.  The auction house offered to refund the money from the sale entirely, but I   
was flush with cash, and we came to a new agreement for a pittance.  I got a nice refund and kept the   
stone.”  
  
“Why was an uncut diamond put on the auction block anyway?”  Steele turned the lump of rock over in   
his hands and examined it with the loupe once more.  
  
“Twas a test by the diamond mines to see what the open market would do with it.  With the fiasco it   
was, they haven’t tried since.”  
  
“Still, even if you had a small stone cut from it, you would make a decent profit from it.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“So why haven’t you cut it?”  
  
“Bit ‘o cowardice on me own part.  So long as I don’t cut it, I don’t know how poorly a trade I made.”    
He winked at Steele.  “Don’t supposed ye’d be interested in liftin’ it for me so as I collect on me   
insurance?”  
  
Remington snorted.  “I think not, mate.  I’d rather not be shorted again.”  He set the rock on the desk   
and scratched his nose.  “Besides, Mrs. Steele would get rather pissy about the whole affair.”  
  
All three men laughed and Rory added, “Aye, they do at that.  Been legit for nigh on six years now   
‘cause me wife would turn me out on me arse if I wasn’t.”  
  
Steele rose and splashed another round of Irish whiskey into each of their glasses.  With a hand in his   
pocket and a drink in the other, he paced while thinking.  “Does O’Callaghan know the stone is flawed?”  
  
“‘Tis unlikely unless he’s really paid attention.  The auction house kept it quiet and I’ve not advertised.”  
  
“So O’Callaghan thinks you’re sitting on the proverbial gold mine.”  
  
“It’s possible.”  
  
Remington sat on the corner of Rory’s desk.  “Tell me something, Malone.  How does O’Callaghan   
know about the set of stones I lifted from you?”  
  
Rory flushed.  “’Cause he was the buyer for them when I realized they had been swiped.  Pretty rubies,   
by the way,” he said off-handedly.  “He bought those, too.”  
  
“Did you mention my name?”  
  
Rory shrugged.  “No.  ‘Twas our agreement.  Didn’t have to though.  At that time, there were only two   
or three master thieves working the Emerald Isle.  Mick O’Leary was one o’ them and O’Callaghan had   
to know that.”    
  
“So he put two and two together after he picked me up and saw our wedding rings,” mused Remington,   
“unless, of course, he knew the whereabouts of the others back then and deduced it was me in the first   
place.”  
  
“Ye packed up and left shortly after that and didn’t resurface ‘til a couple o’ years ago.  Rumor then was   
that Mick O’Leary passed through, but no one saw much o’ ye.”    
  
Steele held out his hand to Malone.  “Mate, ‘tis been a pleasure.  Some advice?”  Rory nodded.  “Get   
another dummy safe, put it somewhere obvious, and slap some electronics on it.  Make it look like it’s on   
your security network.  It will fool even the best.”    
  
Rory grinned.  “Done then.”  
  
Murphy spoke up, “Are you two through?”  
  
“Quite so, I think,” said Steele.  
  
“Good.  Now, I’d like to see something for my wife.”  
  
“Ye came to the right place, mate.”  Rory retrieved several pretty pieces from the safe in his office after   
giving Steele a complimentary nod for his earlier insight.  
  
Murphy looked them over and selected a gorgeous emerald and diamond pendant for Kate.  They   
haggled a bit over the price, but Rory conceded at Steele’s arched brow.  He sliced his final number in   
half, muttering about bloody thieves and profit margins.  When the two men were done and the jeweler   
handed over a small wrapped package to Murphy, the three men shook hands.  
  
As they turned to leave, Steele dipped his hand in his pocket and came out with the bracelet from the   
dummy safe.  The wide Art Deco platinum bracelet was studded entirely with diamonds and sapphires.    
“One more thing--I want this for my wife.  Send me a bill.  You’ve got my card.”  
  
Rory’s eyes widened.  “Ye bloody buggering thief!  Ye lifted the best bauble in me office.  Ye could   
have walked right out--”  He shook his head.  “Get out.  Your bill will beat ye home.”  
  
Steele and Murphy strolled nonchalantly out of the building.  Malone spent the rest of the day doing   
inventory.  
  


 

 


	18. Crisis

At three, Mildred shoved all the paperwork into file folders and told Laura to go take a nap.  They had   
made painstaking progress by matching up dozens of names on the disks with notations in the Filofax.    
Mildred even managed to talk with a few of the people by telephone.  Several declined to discuss any   
contact with O’Callaghan, but three others whispered about the threats and money paid in the hopes that   
the private investigator could "do something about ‘im.”  
  
Mildred noticed Laura checking the time throughout the day.  Now she was nervously fingering the   
shirttail of Mr. Steele’s dress shirt.  “Kiddo, go take a nap.  I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”  
  
Laura didn’t want to be alone.  “I’d rather watch television.”  
  
“Sounds good to me.  Let’s see what we can find.”  Mildred found a silly British comedy that looked   
promising.  A few moments later, she was completely engrossed in the characters.  
  
So far Laura thought she had done well keeping her fears and apprehensions at bay, but now--without   
the investigative work to distract her--it was difficult not to dwell on the car bomb, the beating or the way   
she and Remington had been manipulated.  These last few days, both the heavy-duty painkillers and   
Remington had been her cushion against all the shocks and the reality of the kidnapping and subsequent   
abuse.  Since this morning’s nightmares though, Laura found the horror of it all encroaching upon her like  
a black cloud threatening to engulf her whole being.  Against her will, her emotions spiraled downwards.  
  
  
  
Steele waved down a taxi and glanced at his watch.  “Think we have time for another stop?”  
  
“Sure.  As long as the weather holds out.”  Murphy looked at the darkening sky.  They ducked into the   
taxi.  
  
“Cleary’s, mate.”  
  
During the short ride, Steele asked to see the pendant Murphy purchased for Kate.  He held it to the   
light, turning it this way and that.  “Excellent taste, Murphy.  Art Nouveau style.  The unique trio of   
emerald, pearl and diamond is perfect for her.  She’ll like it very much.”  
  
“I hope so.  And thanks for getting me a good deal on it.”  
  
“Helps when you have a friend in the business, eh, mate?”  They both laughed.  
  
“Hey, I didn’t see what you picked up for Laura.”  
  
Steele grinned.  “This little bauble?”  He held out the bracelet.  
  
Murphy whistled.  “No wonder Malone said it was his best piece.  It’s gorgeous.  Laura’s going to shit a   
brick when she sees that.”  
  
Remington waggled his eyebrows.  “Hopefully, she’ll find something more interesting to do than that.”  
  
“Guess that will depend on how you give it to her.”  Murphy scratched at his cheek.  “Steele, I have to   
ask.  Why would Malone keep a piece like that in the dummy safe?”  
  
Remington looked at his nails before answering, “Ah, that’s to keep it from looking like a dummy safe.    
Most everyone 'in the business,’ as it were, knows the jeweler keeps the goods in his office.  It makes   
excellent business sense.  But a good jeweler will have a second hidden safe where he keeps the prime   
pieces.  When you find that, you’ve struck the big time.  A great jeweler will have a third hidden safe and   
keep one excellent bauble in the dummy safe to keep you from looking for the third one.”  
  
He smiled at the bracelet.  “This is the excellent bauble: mid-1920’s, Art Deco, twenty-eight scissor-cut   
deep blue sapphires, and two hundred diamonds set in platinum.  Something like six carats of diamonds   
and another six and a half of sapphires.  Yes, I think Laura will, as you put it, shit a brick.”  He slipped   
the bracelet inside his jacket.  
  
  
  
The sky darkened along with Laura’s mental state.  Mildred snapped off the television.  Laura didn’t   
notice as she stared into the gathering storm clouds.  “Hey, I need some food.  You want a sandwich?”  
  
Laura barely heard her but rose automatically and headed for the kitchen.  They made dinner while   
Mildred kept up a light chatter.  Finally, she had enough.  “Laura, you’ve got to snap out of this.  Mr.   
Steele will be back in just a couple of hours.”  Mildred patted her on the arm.  
  
Laura smiled absent-mindedly, if not sincerely, at her and sat to eat her sandwich and chips.  She picked   
at them both for a while and concentrated on keeping all the dark thoughts at bay.  When the sun sank   
low on the horizon and lightening flashed in the distance, Laura rose, murmuring about sleeping a bit until   
Mr. Steele came home.  
  
Mildred hoped her mood would be better when she woke.  
  
  
  
Two men strolled into a bar, not an uncommon occurrence on a Friday after work.  These two worked   
their way through the happy hour crowd and ordered a couple of pints from the harried bartender.  “Aye,   
wot can I get ye?”  The barman spoke before looking up and sucking in his breath at Steele’s icy blue   
eyes.  
  
“Two pints of Guinness, mate.”  Murphy shot Steele a sour look.  One pint per trip to Ireland was   
enough for him.  
  
The barman’s gaze wandered down, taking in the expensive suits, custom dress shirts and tasteful   
jewelry both men wore.  “Aye, be just a moment.”  
  
He set the pints in front of them, and Steele laid a fifty-pound note on the counter.  “Can you spare an   
old friend some conversation?”  
  
The bartender glanced at the rest of the customers waiting for their drinks and pocketed the money.  “Be   
just a minute.”  He yelled for someone from the back to tend the bar and flipped up the pass-through.    
He motioned the two men into a tiny snug to lend them a bit of privacy.  “Mick, ye shouldn’t be here.”  
  
“It’s too late for such things.  I need to know what O’Callaghan’s up to and why he wants me for the   
job.”  
  
The other man flinched.  “Word on the streets is that the rest of the Dublin Six are cutting him out.  He’s   
gone a bit loopy lately and they want him out.  Needs a bit o’ blunt to keep up his end of the operations.    
A lot of blunt, truth be told.”  
  
“How did my name get into this?”  
  
“Ah, mate, yer legendary.  E’eryone knows yer a master.  O’Callaghan, ‘e wanted th’ best.  I mean, look   
at ye--ye didn’t get that by working as an honest man does.”  
  
Steele arched a brow while Murphy tried to stifle his guffaw.  “Thanks, mate.”  He drained his pint and   
rose before tossing a hundred-pound note on the table.  “Have a pint on me.”  
  
While they waited for a cab, Murphy heard Remington swear under his breath, “Bloody, buggering   
bastard.”  
  
Murphy flagged down a yellow taxi.  “Are we talking about the bartender or O’Callaghan?”  
  
“Neither--it’s me.  I’ll be damned if I set foot in this country again.  I’ve got too many bloody skeletons   
in the closet to bring Laura here.”  He rubbed at his chin.  “No matter what she does to clear my name, I   
always seem to have something else around the corner.”  
  
“Steele, it’s just as dangerous in LA.”  
  
“Is it?”  
  
  
  
The fury of the storm smashed across Cork and blasted toward Dublin in a roar.  A massive bolt of   
lightning sent Laura shrieking upright in bed.  The power flickered and died, silencing the hum of the air   
conditioner and plunging Laura into darkness.  
  
The atrocities of the week swirled around in her dreams while she slept.  Now, alone and in the dark, she   
simply shattered.  Hysterically crying, her only thought was to protect herself from her captors.  She   
managed to shove the huge dresser along the wall to block the door before Mildred began knocking on it   
and calling her name.  
  
“Laura, Laura, are you okay?”  Mildred could hear the other woman sobbing.  She tried the door, but it   
wouldn’t budge.  
  
Laura stumbled into the bathroom and slid to the floor of the closet, taking Remington’s clothes with   
her.  She clutched his shirts and jackets while she cried.  
  
  
  
The flight from Dublin was delayed for nearly three hours because of the massive storm cells.    
Remington called the suite, but no one answered the phone.  He learned from the local news on the   
television monitors scattered about the terminal that much of Cork was without power due to this same   
storm.  
  
When the men finally arrived, it took another hour for the taxi driver to navigate the darkened streets,   
and it was nearly midnight when the two men entered the hotel lobby.  They climbed the stairs to the   
Presidential Suite to find Mildred pacing in the living room.  
  
“It’s Laura, Boss.  She’s been locked in there for hours now.  She must have moved something in front   
of the door because I can’t get in.  I heard her crying earlier, but now I can’t hear anything at all.”  
  
A picture of the cold, dark cell flashed in Steele’s mind.  He stripped off his coat and tie and ducked onto   
the wet terrace.  Murphy followed and watched the nimble man climb the railing and jump from the   
terrace to the small patio off the master suite.  Remington made short work of the lock with the pick he   
kept in his shirt cuff.  When he closed the door behind him and pushed open the drapes for better light,   
he could see that Laura had shoved the dresser somehow to block the doorway.  He rapped twice on the   
door to let Murphy and Mildred know he was inside.  
  
He could hear her cries coming from the bathroom and his heart stumbled.  Laura rarely wept.  Oh,   
maybe a tear or two here and there, but really letting it all out?  In all their years, Remington only   
remembered one time, and that was when her house had been destroyed by a bomb.  
  
A stray bolt of lightning briefly illuminated the bath suite, and he found her sitting in the little closet,   
wrapped in one of his coats and wearing his shirt.  Tears streamed down her face, and her wet lashes   
fanned down on her cheeks.  “Rei, Rei, don’t leave me.  Oh God, please don’t leave me.  Remington, I   
can’t do this by myself.  Not now.  Not after all we’ve been through.  Rei, please come home.”  She kept   
up the running dialogue in between racking sobs.  
  
Shocked by the desolation he saw on her face, for a moment he didn’t move.  Then he knelt in front of   
her, softly calling her name so as not to startle her.  “Laura.  Laura, I’m here.”  
  
Her lashes fanned up.  Her hands shook as she reached for him.  “Don’t go.  I’m sorry for what I did to   
you.  I know I hurt you terribly.”  
  
He sat on the floor and pulled her into his lap.  “Shh, shh, love.  I’m not going anywhere.”  She wrapped   
her arms around his waist and placed her head against his chest.  He rocked her there on the floor,   
whispering soothing phrases and hugging her close.  Even so, he had to lean in to hear her words.  
  
“I see the car in flames.  I remember trying to get to you and they wouldn’t let me.  You were gone.    
After all we’ve done, you didn’t walk away--you were killed right in front of me.  It wasn’t fair.  I finally   
believed that you would stay forever, and you were taken away just like that.”  She took a ragged breath   
while Remington wiped away a tear from her cheek.  “I love you, Remington.  If I didn’t know how   
much before, I know now.  You’re my whole life.  I never wanted that.  I’ve always been terrified of   
loving someone that much.  But I do.  I love you.  For those three days, I thought part of me had been   
ripped out.  I couldn’t breathe.  I didn’t want to.”  
  
Remington tightened his arms around her while she continued, “I sensed you.  In my heart I knew you   
were there, but my head said you were gone.  I ... I almost convinced myself you were a ghost come   
back to help me.  If you hadn’t been there ... I don’t know if I would have made it back.  I didn’t have   
any reason to come back.”  
  
Remington listened to Laura’s confession.  He closed his eyes against the pain he heard in her voice.    
Guilt for his past misdeeds roared through him.  He knew they were responsible for Laura’s suffering.  
  
“I love you too, Laura.”  He stroked her hair while she cried and soaked his shirt.  His own tears trailed   
down his chiseled cheek as the enormity of the week slammed into him.  He needed to be strong for her,   
but he felt his own façade cracking into small pieces as remorse crashed down on him.  
  
It wasn’t long before Laura became aware of Remington’s distress.  Surprised, she looked up.  She   
couldn’t see much in the dark, but when she touched his wet face, she realized she wasn’t the only one   
falling apart here.  “Rei?”  
  
“Oh God, Laura, I’m sorry.  About everything.  I should never have brought you into this.  With all I’ve   
done, I should have known this could happen.  I love you too much.  I’m so damned sorry.”  He hugged   
her tightly, forgetting about her ribs.  
  
But she ignored them.  Instead, she focused on his words.  “Rei?  What are you saying?  Do you think   
this is your fault?”  
  
“I was a professional thief and a liar before I met you.  I’m a bloody idiot to think no one would come   
after us.”  
  
Laura pushed herself off him and sat up.  “And I was a private investigator before I met you.  If you’ll   
recall, one of our first cases together involved someone trying to kill you because ‘Remington Steele’ put   
him behind bars.  Do you think I didn’t suffer guilt because of that?”  
  
“What?  No, Laura.  You can’t control things like that.”  
  
“How is this any different?  You didn’t work for the Six.  Someone heard of your reputation and   
exploited you.  How many times over the years has our agency’s reputation been used either against us   
or for us?  It’s a fact of life, not a ... a function of your past.”  
  
At times like this, Remington admired Laura’s logic.  She used it like a hard left jab to knock sense into   
his head.  He fell silent for several minutes as he processed her words.  “It’s not.  You’re right, love.”  
  
A few minutes later, he spoke again.  “Laura, Ms. Sweeney said something to me yesterday, and I think   
perhaps you should hear it too.  She said I ... had to forgive myself for what I had done to you ...   
because I had little choice in the matter.  I’m still working on that.”  He took a deep breath.  “And she   
said I had to forgive you because you didn’t know what you did to me.”  
  
Laura caught her breath.  “Is that why you haven’t wanted to touch me?  Because you were angry with   
me?”  
  
Remington shook his head, and then realized she couldn’t see the motion.  “No.  Perhaps.  Mostly I’m   
angry because I didn’t think of any other way out for us.  Whether you remember or not, I know how   
much I hurt you and I keep seeing you--”  He couldn’t say the words again.  
  
“Did you think I blamed you for that?”  
  
“No.  You made it quite clear that this wasn’t our doing; I--“  He stopped again.  
  
“You what?”  
  
“I think, for a while, I was afraid of you,” he confessed.  Laura bit her knuckle as tears filled her eyes   
again.    
  
“I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.  There are some things that ought to stay buried forever.”  He   
was suddenly grateful for the darkness.  He didn’t think he could tell her this story in the light of day.    
“Laura, try to imagine what I looked like at twelve or thirteen.”  
  
It took her a few minutes, but she put together an image of a tall, thin adolescent with enormous blue   
eyes and a shock of black hair.  “You must have been a beautiful young boy.”  
  
“Yes, I was.”  
  
Suddenly, she was cold.  “Did you, I mean, were you--“  
  
“Raped?  No, I was one of the lucky ones.  But it’s not for a lack of people trying.  That’s why the   
orphanage took me back.  I think I was eight or nine and had made my way through most of whatever   
spurious family connections I might have had.  The final stop involved a heavy-handed uncle that liked to  
leave bruises.  The last time we fought, he attempted to have his way with me.  I slugged him in the groin   
and he beat me senseless.  Someone at the hospital tipped off the authorities and I went back to the   
orphanage.”  
  
“A year or so later, another boy my age--Charlie was his name--and I were taken in by the Darveys.    
They said they wanted a couple of farmhands, but it wasn’t until much later that I caught on that we   
were the prettiest boys of the lot.  Charlie’s parents had died in an accident a year or so before, so he   
was eager to integrate into a new family.  I was so damned terrified of nearly everyone that I spent most   
of my time in the fields or in the hayloft.  I’d sneak in at night and steal food from the pantry after   
everyone had gone to bed.”  
  
“One night, a month or so after we'd arrived, two of the Darvey brothers dragged poor Charlie to the   
barn.  I was in the hayloft and watched them rape that poor boy.  They did it again every night for a   
week.  I did my best to stay in the far end of the fields, but the last time, you could hear his screaming all   
the way down the road.  When they were done, I looked in on him.  I don’t know why I went into the   
barn, but I had to see.  He was lying there, bleeding all to hell, and he had a knife in his hands.  I don’t   
know how he got hold of it, but he’d slit his wrists before I got there.  All I could do was stare at him.  I   
remember his looking at me and saying, ‘You’re next.’  Then he died.”  
  
“I grabbed his knife and ran away that night.  I rubbed dirt in my hair and on my face and wore the   
rattiest, smelliest clothes I could steal.  A few days later I stowed away on a freighter headed for   
London.  I don’t know what I thought I’d find there, but I had to get away from Dublin.”  A flash of   
lightning illuminated his face, and Laura could see his ragged expression for a moment.  She kept silent,   
waiting for him to continue.  
  
“It wasn’t long before I discovered little gangs of kids hidden in pockets all over the city.  When one of   
them caught on to the fact that I wasn’t bad at nicking a bit of food, they offered me a flop--a place to   
sleep--in return for a share of what I nicked.  I thought it was a good deal for an Irish bastard that had   
spent a couple of months sleeping in alleys.  I was petrified of getting caught like Charlie, so I did my best   
to stay hidden and to keep up the illusion of a tattered, ugly boy.  But I filled out some, probably from all   
the fights I was in--fights are just a way of life down there--so that only lasted a year or two before the   
girls noticed what was under the dirt.”  
  
“Laura, I was probably twelve or thirteen the first time I had sex.  The girls on the streets never seemed   
to have anything else to offer except their bodies, and one of the lasses just a couple of years older than I   
offered herself in exchange for some pretty trinkets she wanted.  She got them and I got an education.    
After that, it seemed as if half the girls in the neighborhood found a reason to be with me.  I was quite a   
bit older when I understood why.  I was so pretty, and most of them had such little self-esteem, that they   
thought that if I slept with them, it would mean they were pretty too.”  Laura caught his bitter tones   
accompanying that admission.  
  
“After that, it didn’t take long for some of the women living in the area to catch on too.  I discovered I   
could earn a few quid by going home with one of them every so often.  By then I could take care of   
myself, so I cleaned myself up, picked pockets and ran small cons for the most part.  But then I’d start   
craving a warm bed, a shower and a hot meal.  It seemed a small price to pay for those things.  In that, I   
wasn’t much different from all those girls.”  
  
“Daniel put a stop to all that when he got hold of me.  He made damned sure I knew he wasn’t interested   
in me that way and never said a word when I blocked the doorway with a chair every night for a year.    
But he also kept me away from the girls, said I needed to grow up a bit.  We had some blistering fights   
over that, but he wouldn’t back down.  It wasn’t until I was sixteen or so that he decided to take me to a   
friend of his and drop me off for the weekend.  Told me it was time to learn what it really meant to be a   
man.  After that, whenever I got itchy, he’d let me go see her.  Later I learned she made quite a bit of   
money from Daniel to instruct me in the arts of seduction.  And then we fought about that too.”  
  
“When I started running cons with him, he used to get annoyed with me because I wouldn’t seduce a   
woman to lift a gem from her.  Oh, I thought nothing of charming and distracting a woman on the dance   
floor--I considered that fair game.  But not in the bedroom.  Because of those girls on the street, I never   
wanted any lover I had to think I was just using her.  I wanted her to wake feeling beautiful and lovely   
even if she knew she would never see me again.”  
  
Remington sighed in remembrance.  “Daniel loved getting the best of other people, man or woman, by   
any means necessary.  There was nothing he liked more than plucking a pretty bauble from a lady   
fancying herself in love with him or taking a pocket watch from a gentleman who thought he was an old   
friend and above suspicion.  He enjoyed getting away with things right underneath their noses.”  
  
“I think that’s why I liked the heist better than picking pockets.  There was no one to compromise except   
a security system.”  
  
“When I met you, Laura, you enchanted me.  You made it very apparent how much you were attracted   
to me on the surface.  But you also made it crystal clear that you saw a great deal more in me and liked   
that part too--liked it enough that we could find ourselves in very deep waters.  That’s when I realized a   
couple of things: one, it became very apparent to me that any woman I took to bed would simply be a   
poor substitute for you, and two, I simply couldn’t make love to you until I was entirely sure that you   
wouldn’t regret it.  That meant waiting for you to come to me.”  
  
“That night, Laura, I was taken back to my youth.  You didn’t call me ‘Rei’ even one time.  You wanted   
my body and what I could do to you--nothing more.  And then when I took you that last time, I broke a   
promise to myself never to use what I had learned to hurt someone else.  To have done it to you--of all   
people. …”  She heard him shift again.  His voice was rough and thick, and she could tell he was   
struggling to regain his composure.  “I saw your face when you woke up.  To know that I caused you to   
feel that way is the worst thing I’ve done in my lifetime."  
  
Laura spoke quietly, “Rei, do you have any idea how horrible it was for me to wake up and think for   
nearly three days that someone else had touched me that way?  And the relief I felt to find out that you   
didn’t let that happen?  I went from feeling dirty to clean in two heartbeats.  If you were anyone other   
than you, it could have been so much worse--and you of all people know exactly how terrible it could   
have been.”  She closed her eyes and though for a moment.  “I have to live with the fact that I hurt you   
while I was drugged.  I’m angry with myself that I could do that to you.  I had always thought, naively,   
that under even the worst influences, I would treat those I love with care.  I’m sorry, Rei.  I’m sorry for   
all those things.”  
  
She choked up for a moment before letting out a sobbing breath and continuing, “Think about this and   
decide how you feel.  If I had not been drugged, but we were put in the same situation, I would have   
asked you to break your promise, no matter how much it hurt me physically, because you would be   
protecting my heart and my mind in the process.  I … I’m not sure what that says about me that I would   
want you to compromise yourself just to save me.”  
  
She heard soft, relieved laughter from Remington.  “Laura, I can’t count the number of ways you’ve   
compromised your own principles because you love me.  Surely, just this once, I can learn to live with   
it.  Kiss me, Laura.  Kiss me because you love me.”  
  
She didn’t hesitate.  She brought one hand to curve around his neck and pulled his head to hers.  She   
brushed her fingers through his hair while she tasted his mouth and savored the flavor.  As she began to   
draw away, Remington slid his own hand into her hair and tightened his grip, this time demanding a kiss   
and taking it.  Their passion flared, but when it threatened to take control, he pulled his mouth from hers   
and rested his chin on her head.  They stayed that way on the floor of the closet in the dark, taking   
comfort in each other’s arms.  
  
Exhausted from her crying jag and reveling in his embrace, it didn’t take long after that for Laura to fall   
asleep.  While debating the merits of moving her to their bed, Remington gave into his own weariness.    
He pulled a lump of material under his head and closed his eyes.  
  
  
  
Several hours later, the power came back on and the hum of the air conditioner woke Remington.   _Why  
was the bed so hard?  Where was Laura?_  He rolled over and bumped into his wife.  Laura sat next to   
him in the dark with her arms wrapped around one knee.  She had been listening to him breathe while he   
slept.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Hello, love.”   _Ah, yes, the closet.  Laura.  Personal crisis.  Got it.  
  
_ “I’d rather be in bed, wouldn’t you?”  
  
Remington grinned and scratched his chin.  “Of course.”  He stood and stretched before divesting himself  
entirely of clothing.  Nude, he helped Laura to her feet.  She dropped her slacks to the floor and started   
to unbutton the shirt she was wearing.  He brushed her hands away.  “No.  Leave it on.”  He loved it   
when she wore his clothes.  
  
He lifted her in his arms one more time and carried her to the bed.  Setting her down, he slid beneath the   
covers and pulled her into his embrace.  Virtuously, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.  Laura   
chuckled and followed suit.

 

 


	19. Solace

In the first months of marriage, the Steeles experimented with a variety of sleeping arrangements-- from   
holding hands across the bed, to sleeping back to back, to finding her sprawled across him.  Mostly   
though, they spooned together somewhat with Laura on her back, Remington on his side and one of his   
arms resting on her waist with her hand tucked in his.  She usually slipped her feet between his calves to   
keep them warm throughout the night.  
  
That is how they found themselves the next morning.  Remington blew a strand of Laura’s long hair out   
of his mouth and laid a kiss on the back of her neck without thinking.  She turned her face toward him   
without opening her eyes and laced her fingers with his.  
  
Both were in the midst of a waking dream where fingers trailed, lips pressed to heated skin and ardor   
roused.  Neither of them woke fully as they reveled in the sensations.  And when Remington slipped   
inside his beloved Laura, his soul found solace in her utter surrender to him.  
  



	20. Sapphires

Later that morning, Laura found Remington mourning over his crumpled clothing on the closet floor.    
“Couldn’t you have picked just a shirt or two?  Or maybe a jacket I didn’t like?” he deadpanned.    
Innocently, she shrugged while he picked up the clothes.  She sidled around him on her crutches to brush   
her teeth.  
  
“Well, at least you can’t wrinkle a sweater.”  He peered at a blue one that he had apparently used as a   
pillow.  The rest he swept into a pile for housekeeping to launder and return.  He came up behind Laura   
and rested his head against hers while he rubbed up and down her shoulders.  She tapped out her   
toothbrush and set it to the side before capturing his arms and bringing them around her.  
  
They looked at each other in the mirror for a moment before they both broke up laughing.  Laura should   
have been shockingly sexy wearing nothing more than his white dress shirt; Remington should have been   
achingly hot in only blue silk boxer shorts.  But she was covered in green and yellow marks from head to   
toe, and her nose was still taped.  He was scruffy, with a heavy five o’clock shadow and his hair sticking   
up every which way.  
  
“Good thing you didn’t see me like this when we first met.  You might have lumped me in with all the   
other blokes on the block.”  
  
“You would have given up on me as hopelessly clumsy.  We look like ... like. …”  
  
“Mutt and Jeff?  George and Gracie on a bad day?  A couple of circus clowns?” he offered.  
  
“Something like that.”  She tossed her hair back.  “Think we can make a magical transformation into a   
couple of powerhouse PI’s capable of matching wits with Interpol?”  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
  
  
One hour later, Laura shoved Remington out of the bathroom.  The couple that walked confidently into   
the living room of the Presidential Suite didn’t look like one that spent the past week living a nightmare.    
He insisted she wear her electric blue pantsuit with the black silk jacket.  In turn, he dressed in a jet black   
suit, a white dress shirt he’d ironed himself--surprising the hell out of Laura--and a matching blue tie.  
  
Only careful examination would reveal the remaining damage to her face.  She made a mental note not to   
accidentally touch her nose because, without the tape, it was still quite fragile.  They both hoped heavy   
doses of ibuprofen would keep the swelling down on her knee since she refused to use the crutches   
today.  Laura declined any other pain medicine for fear of clouding her thinking.  She intended to appear   
strong and confident for this meeting.  
  
The other two detectives picked up the Steeles at the far side entrance so Laura had only a minimum of   
walking to do.  Murphy drove, and Remington and Laura sat in the back seat reading Mildred’s work.    
The computer whiz had stayed up half the night to prepare the evidence Laura needed for Agent   
Peterson.  Crisp and clean, her dossier laid out point by point the illegalities O’Callaghan committed and   
the proof for each.  The photos Fallon took of Laura and the video Remington lifted were both in the   
briefcase, and Laura dearly hoped they could stay where they were.  
  
Murphy parked a half-mile from the hotel near a little seedy bar.  While Remington flagged down a taxi,   
Laura and her old partner tested the walkie-talkies he and Steele would carry.  A yellow and green car   
pulled alongside the team.  Remington helped his wife from the Fiat and handed her Mildred’s black   
leather briefcase as she and Murphy slid into the cab.  
  
Remington leaned in to kiss Laura through the window.  Disassembling, he said, “Oh, I almost forgot.”    
He reached inside his suit coat and drew out the sapphire and diamond bracelet.  Stunned, she could only   
watch while he clasped it around her left wrist and caressed her cheek.  “Happy Anniversary,” he said   
before tapping on the roof of the cab twice.  
  
The taxi rolled away while Laura’s jaw dropped at the jeweled dream wrapped around her forearm.  
  
  
  
Two Interpol agents watched her step from the cab alone.  Murphy had jumped out a block from the   
hotel and sprinted the rest of the way.  Another agent watched her walk confidently through the lobby.  A   
brief stop at the concierge desk gave her directions to the private dining room reserved in her name.  
  
From the corner of her eye, she saw Murphy enter through the restaurant and follow.  She straightened   
her sleeve, pulling on it three times to indicate the number of agents she had already identified.  The   
dining room was empty but for a table in the center of the room.  A quick glance indicated only two   
doors, the front one she walked through and a back one that led to the kitchen.  She set her briefcase on   
the table and returned to the front door, glancing around as if she were looking for a waiter.  She   
fidgeted, touching her second fingernail as if she was inspecting a nick in her manicure.  She waved down  
a waiter and requested a glass of water before disappearing inside.  Murphy slipped into an empty supply   
closet and radioed Remington.  Two doors.  
  
Interpol Agent Brian Peterson watched Laura Steele from a tiny hidden camera.  Cool and professional,   
she drank her water while absorbing her surroundings.  He snorted.  She was smart.  Maybe too   
smart.       
  
Five minutes into the routine background check he ran yesterday on “Miss Holt,” he was looking at a   
photograph of her “boss,” Remington Steele. _Crap.  Richard Blaine in the flesh._  For four solid years,   
one of Peterson’s cases involved tracking the brilliant art and jewel thief using half a dozen different   
names across four continents.  The trail vanished in 1982.  A whiff appeared three years ago when Blaine   
took a flight from Los Angeles to Sydney but never reappeared.  It seemed the thief had given up his   
night job.  
  
For a decade, Peterson had Blaine’s file sitting somewhere on his desk.  For the first five, it was on the   
hot where-the-hell-is-he-and-what-is-he-up-to stack.  Now, for the past five, it was relegated to the cold-  
case-but-still-better-look-into-it-occasionally pile.    
  
Another ten minutes of research revealed that Miss Holt was actually "Laura Steele," wife of Remington   
Steele, and they co-owned the agency.  A quick scan of their joint assets revealed a comprehensive,   
healthy portfolio.  
  
More digging revealed that, by all concerned, the agency was well-respected and entirely on the up-and-  
up.  The Steeles had developed an impeccable reputation for providing unparalleled security for any   
event or building as well as for solving complex cases requiring intelligence, daring and a healthy intuition   
for the criminal mind.  The list of high-dollar businesses that hired them to look into internal problems   
was impressive.  
  
A third PI with the agency was a highly-respected former IRS auditor by the name of Mildred Krebs.    
Krebs was known to have magic fingers and could tickle any information out of any computer.  That   
ability, combined with her analytical brain and accounting background, was a dangerous combination that  
could, and did, find evidence even on the best-hidden offshore account.     
  
 _Damn the Holt woman_.  She had Richard Blaine/Michael O’Leary in the palm of her hand and Peterson   
couldn’t touch him.  Even his superiors had agreed that while Blaine would be a big notch in Interpol’s   
belt, he had flown under their radar for six years.  It had been decreed that the Dublin Six and Denis        
O’Callaghan were far more important than a well-respected businessman who spent his youth as a light-  
fingered con artist.  
  
Peterson straightened his camel-colored coat and picked up his own briefcase.  
  
  
  
Laura calmed her nerves by envisioning a baseball field.  She was on the mound, scuffing up the ball   
before the pitch.  A nondescript sandy-haired man with intelligent brown eyes walked through the door.    
He set his briefcase beside his chair.  
  
“Miss Holt.”  He held out his hand.  
  
“Agent Peterson.”  She rose to shake his.  They took their seats and a waiter appeared to take their drink   
orders.  Laura shifted to keep the stress off her knee and placed her left hand in her lap.  
  
“Club soda, please.”  He really wanted a nice dark beer, but that wasn’t in the script today.  
  
“I’m fine.  Thank you,” she told the waiter.  
  
Laura eyeballed Peterson.  He looked as if he was resisting the urge to tug at his collar.  Inwardly, she   
danced a happy little jig.  He was going to cave.  She threw him a hard fast ball.  “You might as well call   
me Laura.  Laura Steele.  I’m sure you know that already.”  
  
 _Damn.  She was smart._  “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Then you know my husband.”  
  
 _Fuck.  No bluffing here._  “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Then I’ll need to see the papers before we have any further discussion.”  
  
“I have orders to see some evidence before we make the deal.”  Laura nodded as if she was expecting it.  
  
She considered what to pull out of her attaché as she placed it on the table.  Making a sudden decision,   
she selected one photo that Fallon took of her, along with one page of the dossier Mildred prepared, and   
laid them in front of Peterson.  She touched the dossier page.  “This is information from his personal   
computer about businesses he is currently blackmailing.”  She tapped the photo.  “This is the witness.    
Her rape with O’Callaghan present, along with the subsequent beating, is on this video tape.”  She tapped   
the cartridge she kept under her hand.  
  
While he took in the information, she continued, “At minimum, either of these scenarios will get a   
conviction, and if you do not pursue this case, I will.  But neither is enough to pull down his   
organization.  I have further evidence that may be able to do so.  I also have an internal link that may be   
able to obtain whatever evidence you require.”  
  
“Your husband.”  
  
“My husband.  O’Callaghan’s expecting him to return with a particular item in a set number of days.”  
  
“Has that item been, ah, obtained?”  
  
“No.”  She zinged a curve ball.  “And the owner of that item has been notified personally of the   
situation.”  Laura narrowed her eyes.  Remington was not going to be pinned with this one.  Not on her   
watch.  
  
The agent picked up the photograph and examined it closely before he jerked and stared in surprise at   
Laura.  Now he saw the shadows of bruises on her that he failed to notice before.  He tilted the page   
toward her.  “You?”  
  
She threw her final pitch, hard and fast.  “Me.”  
  
“You’re willing to testify?”   _Holy crap.  A respected American detective as a victim and witness?_  Half   
the problem with prosecuting the Dublin Six was the lack of witnesses willing to go to trial.  It didn’t get   
better than this.    
  
She nodded.  “Got some papers for me?” she sassed.  
  
He threw in the towel.  “I do.”  
  
For a full half hour, Laura read through the papers to make certain that Remington would be safe from   
prosecution as well as she for harboring a fugitive.  She made a few minor changes, and then, to Agent   
Peterson’s surprise, rose from the table.  “Please notify your agents.  I have someone to courier the   
documents before we proceed.”  
  
Peterson’s respect for Mrs. Steele rose substantially.  She wasn’t taking _any_ chances with her husband.    
At this moment, the cards were on the table and Interpol knew Blaine’s current identity.  If Interpol tried   
to renege on the deal, Blaine still had the opportunity to go underground.  He had no doubt Mrs. Steele   
would vanish as well before he could take her into custody.  
  
Laura handed the documents to Murphy, who stepped into a taxi in front of the hotel.  She watched to   
ensure he wasn’t followed, at least not obviously.  She returned to the table where the waiter refilled their   
drinks and she made small talk with Peterson about the storms of the previous night.  
  
Another thirty minutes passed and Murphy joined them carrying a sheaf of signed papers.  He held out a   
hand as he pulled up a chair.  “Murphy Michaels.”  
  
“Brian Peterson.  Ah, you’re a former partner of Mrs. Steele’s.”  Fortunately, the agent had a   
photographic memory for details.  It served him well at Interpol and not many got away from him.  
  
“That’s right.  Now I have my own private investigation firm in Denver.”  
  
Peterson took careful note of the changes in the papers, seeing that Mrs. Steele had added Murphy   
Michaels and Mildred Krebs to the list of people to be protected from harboring a fugitive.  What was it   
about Blaine that inspires this kind of loyalty?  Both Krebs and Michaels had signed the papers.    
  
He scrawled his own signature to the bottom of several pages and passed the stack to Laura.  She   
brought her left hand out of her lap.  When she took the pen Peterson offered, her sleeve pulled away to   
reveal the $40,000 bracelet she wore.  His gaze locked on the stunning piece of jewelry while his brain   
mentally flipped through files to see if it was stolen.  
  
Another waiter appeared just then.  Laura looked up into Mildred’s cheery face, smiled and nodded at   
her.  Mildred refilled her water glass and disappeared while Laura neatly sketched her own name   
throughout the pile of paper.  
  
When the kitchen door closed behind her, Peterson caught on.  “Hey, that’s Krebs.  She’s one of yours.”  
  
“Correct,” Steele said from behind him.  
  
Brian shook his head.   _Damn and damn again._ The con man had a whole team just like him.  He stood   
up and shook the man’s hand.  He shouldn’t have fallen for the simple distraction.  It put him at a   
disadvantage even though the negotiations were over.  
  
“Mr. Blaine.  Sorry.  Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Quite all right, Peterson, common mistake.”  Steele flashed a charming grin.  “I believe we’ve come to   
terms we can all agree on?”     
  
“Ah, yes.”  
  
“Good.  Then we’re all on the same team.”  
  
Peterson winced visibly.  It didn’t help much to see the twinkle in Laura Steele’s eyes.  She had been in   
his shoes more than once, wondering just how the conversation slipped out of her control.  
  
Steele sat down next to Laura, squeezing her left hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.  “Nice   
bracelet.”  
  
“It’s from my secret admirer; do you like it?” she teased.  
  
Catching the agent’s horrified expression, Steele cocked his head and said to his wife, “He thinks I lifted   
it.  No trust at all.”  
  
“Did  you?” she asked, just to needle Peterson.  
  
“Of course not.  Bought from Malone yesterday afternoon.”  
  
“Rory Malone?  The jeweler out of Dublin?”  Peterson felt as if he was catching the third act of a very   
long play.      
  
“That’s the one.”  
  
“Scoping it out?”  Peterson threw his own jab.  
  
“Of course.  Cracked open two of his safes while I was there.  Murphy here,” he waved a toothpick in   
his brother-in-law’s direction, “overrode the security system.”  
  
Peterson wasn’t sure whether to take him seriously or not.  He rubbed his temple.  “Can we start at the   
beginning?”  
  
Laura took pity on the poor agent and laid the entire dossier in front of him.  While he began thumbing   
through it, she sorted the papers they had all signed into two stacks--one set of originals for Interpol and   
one set for the agency.  She folded theirs carefully and gave them to Remington.  “Happy Anniversary,   
Rei,” she whispered.  
  
The waiter returned, to Remington’s delight.  “Ah, let’s eat.  Perhaps you’ll bring us a bottle of   
cabernet?  Something decent, with a full body.”  The waiter nodded and returned shortly with wine,   
salads and bread for the table.  “Come now, Brian.  Put the papers down and let’s have a bite, eh?  Give   
us a chance to get to know each other.  In person, I mean,” Remington cajoled the agent.  
  
Peterson wanted to resist.  That arrogant smile set him on edge.  Steele knew he was the big fish that got   
away and now was coming back to taunt him.  
  
Throughout lunch, the conversation among the five of them was stilted and disjointed.  No one wanted to   
give away any private information, and they exhausted talking about the weather by the end of the salad   
course.  At the end of the meal, which was probably a record shortest in the history of the Kingsley,   
Steele leaned back in his chair.  “Murphy, why don’t you take the ladies home?  I think Mr. Peterson   
and I need to have a private discussion if we’re to get down the road on this case.”  He slanted a look at   
Laura and was pleased to see her nod in agreement.  They'd all caught the waves of animosity rolling off   
the Interpol agent.  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Murphy nodded.  “Peterson.”  He shook the man’s hand and left to get the car.  
  
Mildred left the room with Murphy and returned after a few minutes.  “He’s here, Boss.  Nice talking to   
you, Mr. Peterson.”  
  
Brian watched Steele help Laura up from her chair.  Warm brown eyes warned him to make nice with   
her husband.  “Agent Peterson, I’ll assume we’ll meet again this evening?”  He nodded curtly.  “Thank   
you.  Then we’ll see you later.”  
  
As Steele escorted her to the car, Brian noticed she favored her leg a bit.  He flipped through the dossier   
to find the notes about Mrs. Steele’s abduction.  He read through it and looked at the stack of photos.    
He would have never guessed Mrs. Steele had taken such a beating.  He turned back to the first page and   
began reading.  
  
Ten minutes or so later, Steele returned and paused by his chair.  “Come on.  We’ll get a drink and hash   
this out, eh?”  
  
Brian eyed him warily and gave him a one-shoulder shrug.  “Sure.”  He stacked the photos into the file   
and stuck them in his briefcase.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the former con man almost   
imperceptibly clench his jaw at the pictures.  Good to know.  Steele had a thing for his wife.  
  
  
  
The men took a seat near the back of a quaint smoky bar just a block from the hotel.  Steele pretended   
not to see the two agents discretely parked at a tiny table near the door.  He stretched an arm out across   
the back of the booth while a blond waitress dumped a couple of pints on the table.  “Let’s hear it,   
Peterson.”  
  
“Hear what?” the agent practically snarled.  
  
“You’re bloody well pissed that I’ve dodged your net all these years and now Interpol wants my help   
enough to give me a free pass--flushing ten years of work down the loo.”  
  
Brian fumed.  “Goddamn right I am.  You’re nothing but a high dollar thief and a con man.  Millions of   
dollars have been paid out so you and your ...  your friend Chalmers could live the high life.”  Peterson’s   
hands gripped his pint so that his knuckles whitened in his ire.  “I’ve cleaned up after your fucking   
messes and taken the rap too many times when I couldn’t bring you in.”  
  
Steele leaned in. “Did anyone get hurt.  I mean really hurt--not a little society darling missing her favorite  
pearls.”  
  
Peterson had to give him that one, “No.  I suppose not.  Just one fucking hell of a lot of insurance and   
security nightmares.  It’s a pain in the ass to have a senator with money and power breathing down your   
neck when his wife is missing a $75,000 necklace.”  
  
“Can’t pin that one on me, mate.  She gave it to her boy toy along with the red Corvette.  He pawned it   
for a pittance.”  
  
Brian furrowed his brow.  “How do you know that?”  
  
“She bragged about it while attempting to convince me to be her newest plaything.”  Steele swallowed   
some Guinness.  
  
Peterson raised his brows in surprise.  “God, I would have loved to shove that down that asshole’s   
throat.”  He referred to the senator.  
  
“Still could.  I got pinned just because I showed up on the scene a day or two after the boy toy took off.    
When I brushed off the wife, she told her husband I took it.  Petty revenge because I passed on her   
offer, but I preferred my women unencumbered with marital baggage.”  He sipped his pint.  “What do   
you know about me, Peterson?  I mean really know, not just speculation?  
  
Peterson drank too, taking a deep breath afterward.  “I know you have half a dozen aliases, but we’ve   
never uncovered your real name.  I know you ran with a man identified as Daniel Chalmers, who   
somehow managed to get buried as a hero in London.  He was more a con man and a pickpocket, so   
Interpol wasn’t nearly as interested in him, except as a link to you.  You don’t mess with drugs, guns, or   
prostitution--which played in your favor when your wife set up this deal.”  
  
“What else?” Steele probed.  
  
Peterson frowned again.  “You’re brilliant in what you do; you’ve built an excellent string of contacts and  
a solid rep as a master thief.  You trade on your good looks and charm to pull you through the toughest   
of situations.”  Privately, Peterson admitted the latter part pissed him off the most.  
  
Steele leaned back again and pulled out a toothpick.  “What do you know about me now, Peterson?  I   
know you did a deep background check on both of us.”  
  
The agent threw Steele a hard glare before answering.  “You and your wife seem to have a very   
legitimate and successful private investigation agency out of LA.  The books appear to be clean, but then   
again, I’m talking to you, so I have my doubts about that.  Although the fact you have Krebs on your   
staff makes me think, perhaps, you might really be clean.  She’s got a solid reputation that’s been in   
place long before she hooked up with you two.”  
  
“You still have a reputation for the limelight and fine living.  Your wife is well-known for her brilliance   
and ability to connect the dots.  Interpol actually interviewed her straight out of college, but she had her   
sights set on owning her own detective agency.  You married her two years ago and there’s every   
indication that you are faithful to her.  Again, though, if anyone could hide anything, it would be you.  On   
the other hand, she’s a decent detective and might nail you to the wall.”  
  
“With a very large stake.  That’s a fair shake, Peterson.  Now, did you ever bother to ask, ‘Why?’ ”  
  
“Why what?”  
  
“Why would someone like the person you described hang up the game and go straight all of a sudden?”  
  
“Blaine, I’ve never been able to predict your next move.  As far as I know, this is just one more long   
con.  I just have to figure out your angle.”  
  
Steele leaned in and pinned Peterson with his icy blue eyes.  “You want my angle?  Here it is: Laura   
Holt.  She’s my entire world and has been since I tried to sneak one by her in 1982.  She let me become   
a part of her agency.  She gave me a name, a real life, and a home.  What I was before I met her doesn’t   
matter.  It’s what I am to her now.”  He tapped his fingers on the table.  “Let me give you one more   
thing.  Because of what I was, O’Callaghan thinks he can use me by getting to Laura.  He hurt her.  I   
have to live with that for the rest of my own bloody life.  What I want to do is get on a plane with her   
and never come back to Ireland, but my only salvation is to take him down so that he’ll not touch either   
of us again.  If we fly home without finishing this, he’ll have a contract on both of us before our plane   
sets down.”  
  
Brian eyeballed the former con man over his pint, trying to gauge his veracity.  He gave up.  “You know,   
most of the time I’m considered a pretty good agent.  I have a decent closing rate and pretty good   
instincts.  Steele, I don’t know what to believe when it comes to you.  I’ve never been about to outthink   
you and I doubt I’ll start now.”  
  
Remington waved a waitress over for another pair of pints.  “Well, if you can’t trust me, can you trust   
Laura?  And Mildred?” he said to the agent.  Cautiously, Brian nodded.  “Then follow their lead and   
assume I’m along for the ride.”  Steele looked him in the eye.  “Just keep them safe and whole; that’s all   
I ask.”  
  
Again Brian nodded.  “I’ll do that.”  He didn’t want to like Steele, but perhaps he could respect him.  
  
“Now,” the former thief added, “ask me anything.  Anything you’ve always wanted to know.  Except my   
name.”

 

 


	21. Poker

That afternoon, the team relocated to an Interpol safe house on the northern outskirts of Cork.  Interpol   
identified O’Callaghan’s spy and distracted him while Laura and Murphy slipped out of the hotel.  The   
old two-story cottage appeared rundown, in need of paint and a good weeding in the garden.  Inside   
though, it was outfitted with modern conveniences and tasteful, homey décor.  
  
Remington waited until Laura and Murphy were safely away before he and Mildred checked out of the   
hotel.  Mildred took care of the bill while Steele leaned against the counter and waited for Sean to finish   
his phone call.  “Yes, Mr. Steele?”  
  
“My thanks to you.  The hotel has been exemplary during this ordeal.”  
  
“You’re welcome, sir.”  Hesitantly, Hennessey asked, “Will, ah, will you be going home from here?”  
  
“Not yet.  I have a little project to finish before I do that.  Do you have any messages for me?”  
  
“Yes sir.  A businessman left his phone number for you and asked if you would call him before you   
left.”  Hennessey handed over a folded note.  
  
“Good.”  Steele laid a tip on the counter along with his business card.  “My thanks, again.  If you ever   
need a job, give me a call.  I know some people.  Good people.”  
  
The boy flushed.  “Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.”     
  
Steele nodded and strolled out the door with Mildred.  They dropped the Fiat at the rental place then   
walked down three blocks and one narrow alley over to get into a waiting green Saab.  
  
  
  
Peterson was already at the safe house when pair arrived.  A stocky man dressed as a local farmer   
opened the door but Steele wasn’t fooled.  He caught the hardened eyes and slight bulge of a hidden gun   
under his shirt.  
  
Laura and Murphy sat in the living room with Brian and another man, reviewing the dossier in detail.    
The two Interpol agents stood and Peterson introduced his cohort.  “Remington Steele, this is James   
Buchanan.  He’s the agent in charge of the Dublin Six investigation.  He’s the primary on this case.”  
  
The men shook hands.  “Steele.”  
  
“Buchanan.”  Remington sat next to Laura, noting the fatigue in her eyes.  She had propped up her leg on   
the coffee table and stuck a bag of ice on top of it.  She laid her head on his shoulder, being careful to not   
bump her now-retaped nose.  “Wasn’t Ms. Sweeney supposed to see you today?”  Remington asked in a   
low voice.  
  
“She did.  She and the doctor stopped by while we were packing.  Mildred called her as soon as we got   
back.”  
  
“What did they say?”  
  
“Stay off my knee and take it easy for a couple of weeks,” she snorted softly.  
  
Remington looked at his watch.  Three thirty-five.  Laura had been up since before seven that morning.    
He made an executive decision that was sure to piss off his wife.  
  
He rose.  “Gentleman, my apologies.  My wife needs her rest.  I’ll return in a few minutes.”  He nodded   
at the men.  
  
Laura was mutinous and crossed her arms but Remington pulled her to her feet anyway, murmuring in   
her ear, “Walk or I carry you, your choice.”  She grabbed her crutches and headed for the stairs in the   
rear of the house.  She ascended a couple of steps before leaning against the wall and looking at the   
floor.  As unsteady as she was, she knew it was stupid not to swallow her pride and ask for help.  
  
“Remington, I ... I can’t do this.”  Without a word, he lifted her and carried her up the narrow stairs to   
the bedroom she pointed out.  He set her on the bed then retrieved her crutches from the stairwell before   
closing the door.  
  
“I’m sorry ... you’re right, I’m more tired than I thought,” Laura admitted.  
  
Remington sat down next to her.  “Would you say that again, please?  I think I missed it.”  He flashed   
her a quick smile.  
  
“I’m sor ... oh hush.  No, I won’t repeat myself.”  She had a half-smile playing on her own lips.  
  
“Just rest for a bit, eh?  Until dinner?  I’ll wake you myself.”  
  
“You’ll tell me what happened between you and Agent Peterson?”  
  
“Of course,” he assured her.  
  
“Then kiss me so I’ll have good dreams.”  
  
"Your dream prince, reporting for duty!"  His mouth closed over hers.  He lingered long enough to hint at   
the passion he had for her.  Her eyes were closed when he rose from the bed and spread the blanket over   
her.  He thought she look adorable with her auburn hair tumbled on the bed and her lashes fanning down   
on her cheeks.  
  
“Remington?”  He paused at the door.  Her eyes were still closed.  
  
“Yes, love?”  
  
“What was that line from?”  
  
“Rose Marie, Nelson Eddy, Jeanette MacDonald, MGM, 1936.”  She smiled as he closed the door   
quietly behind him.    
  
  
  
Remington poured a cup of tea in the kitchen before returning to his seat in the living room.  “Where are   
we with O’Callaghan?” he asked.  
  
Buchanan answered, “We have a team staked out around his castle.  So far he hasn’t budged.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Is Mrs. Steele okay?”  
  
“Yes, an hour of sleep and she’ll be right as rain.”  
  
Buchanan hesitated before bringing up the subject.  “I was rather surprised to see her on her feet this   
quickly.  Those photos were taken just this past Tuesday?  Five days ago?”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“She must be a remarkable woman from what I’ve read and seen.”  
  
“Aye, she is that,” Steele said with a smile.  
  
“Mr. Steele, this is not going to be easy, but I do need to see all the evidence you’ve supplied.  I need to   
see the videotape.  I didn’t want to mention it in front of Mrs. Steele.”  
  
Remington’s expression hardened as he looked around the room.  “Do you have a private office?  No   
offense Mildred, Murphy, Peterson.”  He eyed each one individually.  “I’d like to preserve her privacy as   
long as possible.”  They all nodded in understanding, having read the report, or in Murphy’s case, heard   
it straight from Steele.  
  
“This way, Mr. Steele.”  Buchanan led him into a small office at the rear of the house.  It was equipped   
with the latest technology, including some that had not been introduced to the public yet.  “Talk me   
through it.  I’ve read the dossier, but I need to hear it from you.”  
  
Remington explained about the video feed into his cell.  Once again, he watched the nightmare Laura   
suffered.  Fortunately they were able to fast-forward through long stretches.  They stopped when            
O’Callaghan spoke to her shortly after she arrived, at various points during the horrifying night, and then   
each time the bully-boys confronted her the second day.  
  
Buchanan watched the scenes impassively.  He was used to schooling his emotions and had seen worse.    
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Steele’s reactions.  At the point in the tape that Laura began   
fighting, Steele rose and stared out the window.  
  
The agent paused the tape and walked up behind the distraught man.  “You must love your wife very   
much.”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“I’ll do my best to keep this part out of the testimony.  We may be able to prosecute without this   
evidence, but I can’t promise that.  It is a very damaging piece, but it’s not the only piece and I’ll use   
every one of those others first.”  
  
Steele turned red-rimmed blue eyes on him.  “Thank you.  I’ll owe you for that.”  
  
“No, you don’t.  No one should have to go through what you two did that night,” Buchanan admitted.    
“How are you dealing with it?  As a couple, I mean.”  
  
Remington blew out his breath.  “Laura didn’t think twice about letting me off the hook.  She was far   
more upset about what she had done to me.  We’re dealing with it.”  
  
“So she knows the whole of it.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good.  If either of you need to talk with someone, I can set you up.”  
  
“Ah, hopefully not.  But I’ll let you know.”  
  
“Think you can watch the rest of this with me?”  
  
“No.  I think I’ll stand over here and watch the sunset.  Feel free to ask questions, but I don’t think I’ve   
got the stomach for it.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
Remington could tell that Buchanan turned the volume down low.  When the video turned to static, the   
agent snapped off the television and VCR.  “You’re quite correct; the two men that hurt Laura were very   
precise in what they did to her.”  
  
“Aye.  I’ve had a beating such as that before.  Makes a point but usually doesn’t leave lasting injuries.”  
  
“Is that why you left her to escape on her own?”  
  
Steele shot him an icy glare.  “Have you spent time with Laura?”  
  
“Just an hour or so this afternoon.”  
  
“Do you have a partner?  A partner you trust implicitly, both with your life and his or her own?”  
  
“Yes, I do.  We’ve been a team for ten years.”  
  
“If your partner was in Laura’s situation and you made it possible for him to escape unnoticed while you   
provided the distraction, would you do it?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Laura’s been my partner for six years.  Perhaps you’ll understand now.”  
  
“But she’s your wife.”  
  
“She’s been my partner since 1982, my wife for just the past two years.  Trust me when I tell you that   
the latter was a much harder won road than the former.”  
  
“But--“  
  
“Talk with Laura for a while.  Perhaps you’ll understand.  I’m going to go check on her.”    
  
Buchanan watched the troubled man go.  
  
  
  
Remington quietly opened the door, but found Laura emerging from the tiny bathroom.  She rubbed her   
elbow.  “I bumped it trying to get through the door with my crutches.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, darling.  This is not what we envisioned for our anniversary.”  
  
Laura grinned.  “As far as I’m concerned, it’s par for the course.  If it wasn’t Mildred, gunshots, or the   
phone ringing before we were married, it’s foot chases, blackmail and kidnappings after the honeymoon.”  
  
“How can you be so cheerful?” he demanded sourly.  
  
Laura cocked her head.  “Maybe because I had a nap?”  
  
“Seriously, Laura.  Why aren’t you furious about all this?”  
  
“Rei, love, a week ago I thought you died.  Today?  We’re together, I’m healing and we have Mildred,   
Murphy and Interpol to help us.  I promise you, before we leave Ireland, the Dublin Six won’t touch you   
again.”  
  
“Laura, you can’t make that promise.”  
  
“I can.  Buchanan doesn’t need much to close them down.  He’ll probably do it on his own in the next   
year with all the evidence he’s accumulated.  We’ll just help him do it faster.”  
  
Remington wrapped Laura into a tight hug.  “I won’t hold you to that promise.  I’m giving them one   
week.  O’Callaghan is looking for me by next Saturday.  If he’s not shut down by then, we’ll be on an   
airplane for home.  I have a better chance of protecting you in LA than I do here.”  
  
“Shut up and kiss me.  I’m not arguing with you now.”  He did and their kiss quickly turned ravenous.    
The stress of the day drained away as clothing was tossed aside and the couple tumbled to the bed.    
Laura landed on top and swore at her knee that wouldn’t yet bend properly.  
  
“You’re going to have to do the honors, Rei.”  He laughed while she bit her lip in chagrin.  “I’ll have my   
way with you soon enough.”  
  
“My pleasure, darling, my absolute ...  utter ...  most delectable ...  pleasure.”  He kissed all over her face   
between the words.  “Now how did we make this work again?”  The pair had become inventive experts   
at love-making with a gimpy knee.  Remington slid a pillow under her leg for support, drifted one finger   
down her glistening cleft and tasted it.  “Mmmm, delicious.”  
  
Laura’s breath caught.  She wanted him hard and fast but hesitated to tell him for fear of bringing up bad   
memories.  Instead, she caressed and kissed him urgently, concentrating on drawing his desire higher with  
her hands.  
  
“Laura,” he mumbled with a mouth full of breast.  
  
“Yes, Rei.”  Some of the tension left his body after hearing the nickname again.  
  
“Hold on.”  He slid into her in a single stroke.  In seconds, her orgasm rolled through her while she bit   
her lip again, this time to keep from crying out.  He continued to thrust into her and took her up again,   
swallowing her moans with his kisses.  
  
The last time, he went over with her, tangling his hands in her hair.  He groaned her name and she   
breathed his while their bodies shuddered in unison.  
  
  
  
Not too long afterwards, Laura crutched her way into the dining room with Remington trailing behind.    
Murphy and Mildred caught the light banter between the pair and they exchanged grins.  “It amazing   
what a little nap will do to relieve the stress of the day,” Murphy drawled.  
  
“Isn’t it?”  Laura replied in apparent innocence as she propped the crutches against the wall.  Remington   
held out her chair as she sat.  The two Interpol agents were already at the table dishing up their plates.  
  
Mildred laughed at the pair.  “Well, here’s hoping you get to salvage at least some of your anniversary   
trip.”  
  
Remington flashed a smile while Laura answered, ““Now Mildred, if something didn’t interrupt us, then    
I’d worry.  We would have to make something up and I’m sure whatever we came up with to delay our   
celebration would be far worse than what others can throw at us.”  She was deliberately light-hearted and   
reminded her husband how hard they worked to get to this point.  
  
“Absolutely correct, Mrs. Steele.”  Remington agreed, catching her meaning.  
  
Petersn and Buchanan exchanged glances.  Laura looked fresh as a daisy in spite of her taped nose.    
Buchanan noticed that the stress lines had cleared from Steele’s face and he shared a not-so-secret smile   
with his wife.   _Damn.  Nothing worse than sitting with a couple who had just indulged in afternoon  
nookie. _ Especially when his own wife was across two islands and the English Channel.  
  
Peterson picked up on it, too and exchanged another glance with Buchanan.  Only this time it was sour.    
He really didn’t want to like Steele.  “Mrs. Steele,” Brian began.  
  
“Laura, please.”  
  
“Laura, how did you two meet?”  
  
She laughed.  “How do a private investigator and a professional con artist get hooked up?”  She stole a   
glance at Remington.  
  
“Ah, yes.”  Peterson felt suddenly embarrassed.  
  
“Try this for a deep dark secret: The great detective Remington Steele ... he didn’t exist.  I invented him.    
Follow: I'd always loved excitement, so I studied and apprenticed, and put my name on an office.  But   
absolutely no one knocked on my door.  A female private investigator seemed so ... feminine.  So I   
invented a superior.  A decidedly masculine superior.  Suddenly there were cases around the block.  It   
was working like a charm.  Until the day he walked in, with his blue eyes and mysterious past.  And   
before I knew it, he assumed Remington Steele's identity.  Now I did the work and he took the bows.  It   
was a dangerous way to live, but as long as people bought it, I got the job done.  We never mixed   
business with pleasure.  Well ... almost never.  I didn’t even know his real name!"  
  
Peterson’s jaw dropped open.  “Are you telling me he conned you, too?”  
  
“Or I conned him.  We’re not quite sure.”  Laura laughed again.  “The joke was on both of us you see;   
Remington turned out to be a better detective than anyone would have expected.  We make a great team,   
despite his allergy to legwork, paperwork and anything else resembling work.”  
  
“What Laura means to say is that she fell hook, line and sinker for my natural charm and good looks and   
couldn’t bear to see me leave.  I stayed so I wouldn’t break her heart.”  Remington quipped.  
  
“He just liked the condo, the limo and the practically unlimited expense account – oh, and the clothes,   
definitely the clothes,” Laura retorted.  
  
“Really, Laura, you forgot about your own delectable charms.  Surely you don’t think I would have   
given up that part of the package?”  
  
“What charms?  It took you four years and three weddings to make me yours.”  
  
“Let’s not bandy that about, eh, it makes it appear to everyone you had the upper hand.”  
  
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”  Laura assumed a superior face while she dug into her food.  
  
Peterson took a stab at getting a piece of information he dearly wanted to know.  “So what is your   
name?”  
  
“Remington Daniel Harrison Steele.”  
  
Buchanan drawled, “I think the better question is ‘how long has it been your name?’ ”  
  
“Legally?  About two years.”  
  
“What was your name before?”  Peterson asked.  
  
“I imagine you have the list, mate.”  Steele shot him an icy look.  
  
Peterson started to ask again, but Buchanan stifled him with a glare of his own.  This was not the time to   
stir up animosity.  “How did you two get hooked up with them?”  Buchanan waived at the other pair.  
  
Murphy gestured toward Laura, “We trained together at the Havenhurst Detective Agency.  Once she set   
up the Remington Steele Agency, she needed help and we became partners.  A year or so after Steele   
showed up, I decided it was time for me to open my own doors.”  
  
“And you, Ms. Krebs?”  Buchanan wanted to know.  
  
“Mildred, please--I was the IRS agent in charge auditing the agency’s taxes.  I got caught up in a case   
with them and such a good time, I went to work for them.  I started as their secretary, but I became a   
full-time private investigator two years ago.”  
  
Buchanan looked mournfully at Peterson.  “Why do I get the feeling they have more fun than we do?”  
  
  
  
When dinner was cleared, Mildred spread the financial reports she had assembled across the table and   
pointed to a particular transaction.  The rest of the group listened as Mildred bandied information back   
and forth with Buchanan.  
  
She pointed out several transactions on the printouts.  “This is the money we’re looking for.  He’s paying   
somebody a lot of dough.  Look at this here, once a month for the past five years he’s transferred   
$50,000 to someone.  This account number here?  It’s a bank in the Grand Caymans.”  She continued,   
“I put together a balance sheet and cash flow statement based on the information Mr. Steele obtained and   
the stuff you gave me.  He’s been dipping into his capital for the past three years to pay this money.      
He’s almost broke.”  
  
“Do we know who is getting the payments?”  That was from Murphy.  
  
Buchanan answered, “We’ve suspect it’s one of the other members of the Six.”  
  
“Johnny Carlisle,” Steele answered.  
  
Buchanan looked up in surprise.  “How did you know?”  
  
“Because Carlisle hates O’Callaghan.  Johnny cut deals with the other four--Tommy O’Meara, Sean   
Nevin, Berk Garrity, and Quinn Denton--about fifteen years ago.  They would share resources and   
information to control the black market on damn near everything.  Nevin and O’Meara wanted to bring in  
O’Callaghan because of his links with the local _gardaí_ .  Bribing the _gardaí_ is a time-honored tradition in   
Dublin but it’s all about family and friendships.  O’Callaghan’s family has a history of smuggling   
stretching back four or five generations and legions of coppers have drunk fine French brandy in their   
names.  But Carlisle never wanted O’Callaghan in.”  
  
“Why” asked Murphy.  
  
“Classic love triangle.  Two best friends, they both fall in love with the same girl.  Girl picks one over the   
other.  Carlisle was insanely jealous when Erin Brennan married O’Callaghan.  About ten years ago, Erin   
was murdered.  Word on the street was that O’Callaghan double-crossed someone and they took   
exception to it.  Erin lost her life.  Carlisle blamed O’Callaghan and started finding ways to cut him out of  
the Six.”  
  
“Gee whiz, Boss, how’d you know all this?”  
  
“Because all the infighting let a certain young thief fly under their radar for a while.  When they got their   
act together, he moved his show elsewhere.  I never liked working for anyone I couldn’t trust enough not   
to double-cross me.  The Dublin Six didn’t fall into that category.”  
  
Buchanan snorted. “So O’Callaghan’s the weak link, just as we thought.”  
  
“Not necessarily.  O’Callaghan is just looking for cash.  Carlisle is the one I’ll bet is bleeding him dry.    
The man hates O’Callaghan.  If he’s the one doing the blackmailing, find out why.  If you can prove it,   
you’ll put a chink in the whole organization.”  Remington stirred his tea.  
  
“Boss, how can all this stretch back for ten years?”  
  
“My guess is Carlisle found what he needed only--”  
  
“About five years ago,” Buchanan interrupted.  “We know this because the Six began restructuring their   
operations.  O’Callaghan’s been less and less involved, but we didn’t know why.  Now we do.  And with   
the information Mildred has uncovered, I think we can trace the money.”  
  
“Just let my fingers at your computers.  I’ll find it.”  
  
“I’ll hook you up with our crew in the morning while I get the warrants we need.”  
  
“Perfect.”  
  
“What kind of information would be worthy of blackmail?” wondered Laura.  “It has to be something   
related to Erin Brennan.  Either Carlisle knows what O’Callaghan did or. ... ”  She frowned as she   
thought it through.  “Does Erin have children?”  
  
“We don’t know,” answered Buchanan.  “One of our operatives got wind of a rumor about a girl last   
year, but we’ve never been able to substantiate it.”  
  
“If Carlisle was making threats against her, that would certainly be a powerful incentive to pay him off,”   
Murphy said.  
  
Buchanan looked thoughtful.  “I’ll get with my team and see what we can uncover in the next day or   
two.  In the meantime, we need to keep O’Callaghan occupied and thinking he’s going to get his   
diamond.”  
  
“I was given a message from O’Callaghan’s snitch at the hotel to contact him.  Shall I?”  Steele suggested.  
  
Buchanan nodded.  “Use the house phone.  It’s a secured line and can’t be traced.  We record all   
conversations though.  One more thing, for all of you,” the senior agent added, “we’ve taken great pains   
to conceal your presence here and to shake off any spies that might be tailing you.  Please stay here and   
let us protect you.  I know you are all detectives and used to saving your own butts, but witnesses for the   
Dublin Six keep turning up suddenly silent or dead.”  He pinned each one with a glare until he received   
reluctant nods from the three of the four detectives.  Steele just met his look with a steady gaze of his   
own.  
  
Murphy leaned forward.  “What I can’t figure out about all this is why O’Callaghan hasn’t done anything   
yet?  We haven’t noticed any tails, anyone spying on the hotel room – all we’ve uncovered is a single   
snitch and an idiot watching the hotel.”  
  
“Which means either his men are better than we thought or he doesn’t have the money to hire what he   
needs,” said Steele.  “If he doesn’t have the cash, it might explain why he wants the diamond.  I imagine   
there’s a Middle-Eastern sheik somewhere willing to purchase it for a tidy sum and doesn’t care where it   
comes from.  That might give O’Callaghan the cash he needs to either keep paying Carlisle or to hire a hit  
on him and stop the bleeding.”  
  
“It would take a ‘tidy sum’ to get Carlisle.  A sniper for sure.”  Peterson added, echoing Steele’s words.    
“He’s too well protected otherwise.”  
  
“How can we use this to get to Carlisle?  He’s appears to be smarter and better protected.”  Laura asked   
with her arms crossed and tapping her fingers on her elbow, a sure sign she was thinking.  She gestured.    
“We have to get someone inside.  Perhaps if we get someone to warn him at the same time we take   
down O’Callaghan.  It might earn us his loyalty and maybe even a chance to look around.”  
  
Peterson nearly spit out his coffee while Buchanan looked on thoughtfully.  
  
“Laura, don’t even go there,” Remington warned.  
  
“Why not?  It might work.”  
  
“You’re still on crutches and you want to walk into the lion’s den?”  Remington was incredulous.  
  
“But it makes sense.  You take the diamond to O’Callaghan.  When he makes the sale, Interpol   
intercepts the buyer and explains that the stone is flawed and we’ll get the money back for him.  That   
gives us time to follow O’Callaghan.  When he sets up the contract for the hit, we intercept and arrest   
him.  In the meantime, we go to Carlisle and clue him in that O’Callaghan is hiring a hit on him.  That   
should get us inside his place.”  
  
Remington raised his voice in his ire.  “And then what, Laura?  One of the Dublin Six nearly killed you.    
I’m not about to hand you over to another one!”  
  
Buchanan laid a hand on Remington’s forearm.  “Relax, Steele.  I agree with you.  We’ve got operative   
who can do her part.”  He shifted his attention back to Laura.  “It’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Steele, and   
we’ll pursue that line of thinking.  But I’m not about to send you since you are still recovering from your   
injuries.  He looked back at Remington.  “Make that call, Steele, and we’ll see where we go from here.”  
  
Remington arched a brow at the order, but crossed to the telephone and dug in his pocket for the   
crumpled sheet of paper.  “Steele here ...”  
  
  
  
A short while later, Buchanan played back the conversation on the tapped line.  
  
 _Steele here.  
  
Do you have it?  
  
Not yet.  
  
What were you doing in Dublin then, shopping?  
  
Scoping things out.  
  
Seven days, Steele.  
  
Until what?  You don’t have my wife.  You have nothing to hold over me.  
  
Shall I tip the Dublin police that Michael O’Leary’s in Cork?  
  
The statute of limitations has run out, O’Callaghan.  
  
Sure, but I imagine you won’t like being detained.  It might take a few weeks or months to sort all the   
charges out.  And who would protect your wife in the meantime?  How’s her knee by the way?  
  
What do I have to do to get you to go away, O’Callaghan.  
  
Bring me a rock.  
  
If I bring it to you, I want thirty percent.  That’s my fee.  
  
Bloody thief.  Your fee’s always been twenty.  
  
Yes, but I have more at stake now.  And you bloody well pissed me off.  
  
Twenty-five.  
  
Done.  
  
But Steele, my part better be no less than half a million.  I knew you weren’t squeaky clean, Steele.  No   
one could be that good and give it up.  
  
The phone went dead.  
  
  
  
_“Half a million.  Excellent, my good man!  If he takes this, it’s just one more thing to hang on him,”   
Buchanan complimented.  “You know, you might be right about the hit.  Half a million won’t last him   
very long if he’s planning to keep sending him cash, but it will pay for a contract.”  
  
“Bloody, buggering bastard,” mumbled Steele as he ransacked the kitchen for decent glass of wine.    
“Think your account can stand to spring for the diamond?”  
  
“How much are we talking?”  
  
“Mmm, I’ll get Malone down to £75.”  Steele idly opened drawers and cabinets, seemingly for a wine   
glass.  
  
“My superiors are not going to authorize £75,000 for a rock.  That’s probably our entire budget for this   
operation.  Top right cabinet, Steele.  Stop looking.  You won’t find anything interesting.”  
  
“I might.  Get the rock back, you’ll get your money back.”  He moved to the correct cabinet and took   
out a couple of goblets.  
  
“And if I don’t get it back?”  
  
“I’ll only charge you twenty percent.  Anyone want a glass of wine?”  
  
“Bloody thief.”  Buchanan smirked while Peterson rolled his eyes.  
  
“Laura!  Why are we putting up with this again?”  
  
“Mmm, something about catching a bigger fish so the tadpoles won’t get eaten?”  
  
Remington grumbled, “I’m not sure I like that analogy.  Certainly ‘Remington Steele’ should rate better   
than a tadpole.”  
  
“Sometimes I know exactly what you’re going to say, most of the time,” she retorted.  
  
“To Have and Have Not, Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart, Warner Brothers, 1945.”  Remington   
pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.  “Darling, I’m so proud of you.”  
  
“The other times?  You’re just a stinker,” she finished.  Remington shook his head while he laughed out   
loud.  He heard Mildred chortling behind him as she loaded a plate of chips and dip.  Laura grinned at   
him.  “Didn’t you make me see it again last month?”  
  
“Of course, but you don’t always pay attention.”  
  
“I can’t help it if you distract me,” she slanted her eyes at him, “by reciting all the lines.”  She finished   
with a flirtatious smile.  
  
Buchanan interrupted.  “Are they always like this?” he wondered.  
  
“Yes,” chorused Murphy and Mildred.  
  
Remington dropped on the table a box of poker chips and cards he found in one of the cabinets.    
“Anyone care for a game while we talk?”  
  
Murphy nodded.  “That’s the best idea we’ve had all night.”  
  
“Well, I can think of others, Michaels, but rest assured, they won’t involve you.”  
  
“That’s going to cost you at least twenty, Steele.”  
  
“Better put your money where your mouth is, mate, and hope your poker playing is better than your pool   
game.”  
  
Murphy gave Laura a mournful look.  “Can I please take him out back?  Just for five minutes?  I promise   
I’ll only blacken one of those pretty blue eyes.”  
  
Mildred abruptly sat between the two of them and shot them both quelling looks.  “Do I need to send   
you to your rooms, boys?”  
  
“Only if Laura goes with me,” Remington shot back.  Murphy made a rude gesture behind Mildred’s   
back that made his brother smile.  
  
Buchanan and Peterson traded long looks before Buchanan finally nodded.  It would give them a chance   
to get to know this team.  “What’s the buy in?”  Brian asked.  
  
“£100?”  Steele suggested, “Just to make it interesting?  Ladies, are you in?”  
  
“I’m in, Chief,” nodded Mildred.  
  
“I’ll deal,” offered Laura.  She flashed Remington and Mildred a smile, reminding them of the last case   
where she posed as a dealer.  Her husband had taught her a great deal since then.  Murphy grabbed   
bottles of beer for the rest of the table, leaving the Steeles with their wine.  
  
“What are we playing?”  James asked.  
  
“Dealer’s choice,” prompted Murphy.  He knew Laura.  They had played a time or twenty at   
Havenhurst.  
  
Laura opened a new deck and shuffled them professionally.  “I’m sure everyone is aware not to let Mr.   
Steele handle the cards too much.  One good pass and the whole deck will be marked.”  
  
“Laura, have you so little faith?  This is an honest game among friends.”  
  
“I’ve played cards with you, Mr. Steele.  Let’s start simple.  Five card draw.  Pair of jacks or better to   
open the bet.  Five pound ante.”  Buchanan flipped his chip on the table, starting the game.  
  
Peterson watched his old nemesis across the table.  At Interpol Paris, the agent was known to be a   
sneaky card player and usually walked away flush.  An hour later Peterson thought he had a line on   
Steele’s tells until the other man switched to drinking a gin and tonic.  Astonished, he watched Steele slip   
into an entirely different character.  His accent even flattened out slightly, taking an Australian tone to it,   
but without any obvious local phrases.  
  
Laura saw him take note and sent him a wink across the table as she dealt a round of cards.  An hour or   
so later, with a slight smile, she got up to pour a new round of drinks.  She set a short glass of Amaretto   
on the rocks next to Steele.  
  
Amazingly, Peterson watched Steele make the switch again, this time giving a faint Italian air to his words   
and gestures.  The Interpol agent muttered to himself, _No wonder he was so damn hard to track._  If he   
does this unconsciously, what can he do when he’s paying attention?  Not only that, each shift in   
character completely changed Steeles ‘tells,’ rendering it impossible for anyone to determine if he was   
bluffing.  Not surprisingly, Steele had a fair stack of chips after a couple of hours.  
  
The phone rang, startling the players into taking a break while Buchanan took the call.  
  
“Buchanan ... bonsoir, monsieur.  Oui, le Steeles sont ici, tout à fait sûr ... Oui, M. Steele a proposé que   
nous jetions un autre coup d'oeil chez Johnny Carlisle.  Il peut faire du chantage à O' Callaghan.    
Pourquoi?  Je souhaite que j'aie su ... Mais O' Callaghan payant quelqu'un au loin ... Steele pense que   
c'est Carlisle et a quelque chose faire avec Erin Bennett.  Ouais, faites-regarder les dans encore.   Avons-  
nous les garanties encore?  ... Que diriez-vous de Carlisle?  Pouvez-vous essayer de tirer ses disques de   
banque encore?  Oui, je prendrai ceux que nous avons obtenus l'année dernière ... Je voudrais que Krebs   
regarde les données demain.  Elle peut voir que quelque chose que nous avons manqué ... Bon, nous   
rechercherons le courier le matin ... Mme. Steele est très bien à l'heure actuelle.  Un docteur l'a regardée   
juste avant qu'elle l'ait obtenue, ainsi nous pouvons attendre un jour ou des deux different ... Oui,   
monsieur.  Nous parlerons le matin.  Bonne nuit.”  
  
Peterson abruptly turned to Steele, “Je n'ai pas ma montre, quelle heure est elle?”   _I don’t have my  
watch, what time is it?  
  
_Steele flipped over his wrist.  “C'est seulement dix en soirée.  Néanmoins voulez-vous jouer?” _It’s only  
ten in the evening.  Do you still want to play?  
  
_It took a long minute of silence for Remington to realize his error.  He saw identical looks of surprise on   
his wife and friends’ faces.  Peterson just shook his head, and Buchanan nodded as if he expected it.  
  
“Now that wasn’t a very nice trick to pull on me, Peterson.”  Steele shook his own head, angered that he   
fell for the ruse.  Switching languages in the middle of a conversation was tried and true method of seeing  
what another person understood.  Daniel had drilled him in it repeatedly, both in using it on a mark and in  
not falling for the ploy.  Peterson executed the technique brilliantly by asking his short question after   
Buchanan’s long conversation on the phone.  His estimation of Peterson as an agent rose a notch.  
  
Seeing his ire, Laura abruptly changed the subject.  “Who’s in for another round?”  
  
Steele poured himself a club soda.  “I’m in.”  He was royally pissed at himself.  Nods, “me”s and           
“I am”s resounded as the detectives and agents took their seats again.  
  
Peterson expected Steele to make a move.  He saw that the man was angry over his lapse and the agent   
was curious to see how dealt with it.  
  
Laura called out the game, “Seven card stud.”  She passed out the cards.  “Ante up.”  While they played,   
Peterson saw Steele at his finest.  After the first thirty minutes, Buchanan and Mildred both folded the   
game, leaving Murphy, Peterson and Steele.  Twenty minutes later, Laura’s brother-in-law chucked in   
his hand as well.  
  
Just as Peterson began to get a hang of Steele’s tells, the man shifted slightly and he knew he was out of   
luck.  He played one more hand and tried to bluff through it before losing it outright.  Tossing his cards   
on the table, he held out his hand.  “Steele, I think we can count this night as a draw.”  
  
Remington impassively shook it, “Aye mate, quite the card player you are.  I’ll sit at your table anytime.”  
  
  
  
Later that night, Laura snuggled in Remington’s arms.  “So tell me, just how many languages can you   
speak?”  
  
“Mmm,” he kissed her throat.  “French, as you know,” he kissed her nose.  “Spanish, you probably   
guessed,” he kissed her cheek.  “A smattering of German and Russian to get me by,” he kissed her other   
cheek.  “Gaelic, like any good Irish boy,” he kissed her forehead.  “And every form of English known to   
mankind,” he kissed her lips.  “Je t’aime, mon chéri, je t’aime.”

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

Laura found Remington in the tiny walled garden spilling out of the rear of the house.  She had rolled   
over that morning to find his side of the bed cold and empty.  Curious, she wandered around the quiet   
house until she found him sitting on the patio, staring thoughtfully at the brightening sky and nibbling on a   
thumbnail.  
  
She took the time to prepare his favorite tea while watching him through the window.  She closed her   
robe before opening the door to the chill air.  “I thought you didn’t like mornings.”  
  
He slanted unreadable eyes at her.  “Just ones that start too early.  Catching them on the backside of a   
delightful evening is something else entirely.”  
  
“Since last evening wasn’t that delightful, it must be something else altogether.  Care to talk about it?”   
she asked while she dropped a kiss in his hair.      
  
Remington took comfort in her light caress.  His sensitive hearing had picked up the sounds of someone   
in the kitchen, and her scent wafted on the morning breeze moments before she kissed him and handed   
him his cup.  “Aye.  I think I do.  Can I ramble on a bit?  I’m still sorting it all out.”  
  
“Of course.”  She curled up in the chair next to him and sipped her own tea, pleased that Remington was   
willing to trust her.  Glib as he was, it was still rare for him to spill his thoughts outright to her.  
  
“Daniel would have been terribly ashamed of me for my slip last night.  Three years ago, I would never   
have allowed Peterson to pull a trick like that on me.  Nor you.”  He waggled a finger at her.  
  
“Me?”  
  
“I know what you did with the drinks at the table.”  
  
“Ah, I’d wondered if you’d noticed.  Peterson picked up on it.  That’s why he tried the French bit with   
you.”  
  
“How long have you known?”  Remington shot a look at her.  
  
“I noticed it, oh, a year or so ago.  Remember when we went to dinner with the Jacobs?  We were   
looking into Marc’s inheritance from his mother and the broker was a little shady.”  She pulled her wrap   
a little tighter against the cold.  
  
“Ah, yes, the little weasel who thought he deserved his share.”  
  
“That’s the one.  Anyway, during dinner we drank wine, of course, but afterwards you ordered a gin and   
tonic.  I know for a fact no one else picked up on it, but after a while I realized you were in your   
'Richard Blaine’ persona.  It was something in the way you flattened your accent and your mannerisms.    
You have a way of flicking your fingers that you only do as Blaine.”  She sipped her tea.  “Once we   
finished dinner, you dropped the character altogether.  Since then, I've only seen you do it one other   
time--when we were out with Murphy and Kate last New Year’s Eve.”  
  
“Was that when we were three sheets to the wind?”  Remington hoped not.  
  
“Unfortunately, yes.  We were drinking Amaretto sours and I saw you slip into Paul Fabrini.  As least I   
assumed that’s who it was.  You became--how do I describe it--very Old World European.  You became   
quite protective of me, and your manners, while always exquisite, were absolutely impeccable that night.    
I do seem to remember a very torrid night of lovemaking afterwards, but that may have been the   
holiday.”  
  
Remington cursed under his breath but motioned for Laura to continue.  “Rei, I know that no one else   
noticed.  I think you pulled Fabrini out more than once when you first came into the agency.  I’m sure   
Murphy thinks that's how you are most of the time.  She wrinkled her brow, trying to understand.    
“What is the link between the role and the drinks?”  
  
Remington rubbed his temple before answering.  “That’s how Daniel trained me.  I developed different   
characters and linked them to a particular cocktail.  By the time I was twenty, I had ten or twelve   
different personas I could assume simply by thinking of what that person would drink.”  
  
“Did you ever get confused if you were in one character and someone served you something different?”  
  
“No.  I always found a reason to put down the drink or switch to something else.  Club soda was usually   
a good choice in that situation.”  
  
“But since I was the one serving you, you automatically trusted me and thought nothing of it.”  
  
“Essentially, yes.  Old habits kicked in.  That was a dirty trick, Laura.  I don’t like it.  And I don’t like   
that Peterson picked up on it and you confirmed it for him.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Remington.”  Laura was contrite.  She was so infernally proud of his abilities and impressed   
that Peterson noticed.  “I didn’t think about the fact I was giving away your secrets.”  
  
“Peterson doesn’t like me, Laura.  I’ve been a bloody pain in the ass to him for a decade.  Now his boss   
has patted him on the head and told him that I’m to help him catch a few bad boys and be forgiven for all   
I’ve done.  I’d be bloody well pissed, too.”  
  
“Is that why the trick with the languages made you so angry?”  
  
“No, that’s another subject entirely.  Are you sure you want to hear this?”  Remington shifted and put his   
tea cup on the table.  
  
“Hmmm.  From the sound of that, maybe not, but fire away.”  
  
“I owe my whole existence to Daniel, Laura.  He found me picking pockets in the streets.  I had a flop   
with a few boys in an old warehouse.  It was terribly cold in the winters, and we had only the blankets   
we stole from someone’s laundry.  In the summer, it was sweaty and steamy.  For the three years after I   
escaped the Darveys, I ran wild on the streets of London.  I fought for my bit of turf just to show others   
I wouldn’t be beaten.”  
  
“As a child, I learned to be whomever the people I stayed with wanted me to be.  Quiet, boisterous,   
angry, sad--it didn’t matter.  I learned to adopt accents and demeanors the way some children learn their   
letters.  On the street, I perfected the ability to blend.  I wasn’t a bad pickpocket and had a fair shot at   
winkling a bit of money out of a mark.  My mates taught me to pick locks and hotwire cars.  I did a fair   
share of the former, a bit of the latter, and you know the rest.  It wasn’t much of a life, but at least it was   
one I chose, until Daniel found me.”  
  
“After I lifted Daniel’s wallet, it took him weeks to track me down and have a simple conversation.  He   
promised to show me how to be a real thief, but I didn’t dare trust him.  That winter, blankets appeared   
at my flop, along with food or medicine when we needed it, and one time a book of poetry.  It took me a   
couple of months to work out how Daniel was sneaking in and out without setting off our traps.  When I   
figured it out, I found Daniel and asked him to teach me.  And he did.  Thank God I had some schooling   
or I would have been hopelessly lost.”  
  
That raised Laura’s brows.  Remington caught it and gave her a wry smile.  “Love, school was better   
than home.  I was warm, got a bit to eat and was so good that even the nuns couldn’t find a reason to   
punish me.  It was funny actually.  I wanted Daniel to teach me to be a better thief, and instead, he hired   
tutors for me.  I had no idea why I was learning to draw and was reading about art history, geometries   
and languages.  I’d ask, but he would just laugh and tell me I needed to catch up with my peers.  At the   
time, we lived everywhere--from nasty little flats to elegant apartments--depending on his latest scam, but  
we always had a tutor along.”  
  
“Daniel figured out that I had good recall and insisted that I memorize everything.  I wasn’t allowed to   
write anything down.  I remember conjugating French verbs while practicing how to lift jewelry from   
Daniel and reciting my history lessons while learning to crack a safe.  We had some spectacular fights   
about that.  Well, that and everything else, anyway.”  He rubbed his chin.  “Now I understand he was   
training my memory.”  
  
“I think I get why movie quotes stick in your head,” Laura commented.  
  
Remington snorted, “I spent a lot of time in movie theaters, both before he picked me up, and later    
when I’d get pissed at him--which was quite often.”  He sipped his tea again before continuing.  “When I   
was sixteen or thereabouts, he placed me at Eton as a Sixth Form Scholar.  I have no idea how he got me   
in, but I worked harder in those two years than I ever have in my life.  I had a private tutor the entire   
time.  If I wasn’t studying, I was playing sports.”  He caught Laura’s nod.  “Yes, that’s where I learned   
marksmanship, polo, archery and all that.  The other boys hated me.  Most of them were the sons of   
British upper class or had been there since they were thirteen or so.  I came in for the last two years and   
there was a great deal of resentment because of it.”  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“What I always did.  I fought when necessary, blended in, learned to joke with the chums and put on my   
best British accent.  By the time I left, most of them thought I was the younger son of an Earl or Marquis   
somewhere.”  
  
“Where was Daniel while you were at Eton?”  
  
“Oh, around.  He picked me up during all the breaks, and on the odd free weekend, and taught me real   
pickpocket work.  We spent the summer between my Eton years trolling around France, running low-  
level scams and working on my characters.”  
  
“When I graduated, I was terribly angry with Daniel for stashing me away for so long and I bolted.  I felt   
as if he’d been training me to be his little trick pony.  When I left, I did anything and everything for a   
while.  Circuses are a great way to hide out and even Daniel couldn’t find me there, but it wasn’t long   
before I tired of that life and I hopped another freighter.  Did a fair turn as a smuggler--I think I told you   
about that one.  When the tanker sank, I hooked up with another captain and made my way to South   
America.  
  
“The Kilkenney Kid.”  Laura referred to his nickname during that time.  “That’s where you learned   
Spanish.”  
  
“Not at first.  I ran a few cons, lifted a few wallets, but mostly I used my fists to keep myself afloat.    
Then I hooked up with Barney.  You know that story.  What I didn’t tell you is that after he left me high   
and dry, I called Daniel.  Ironically, after Eton, I discovered I had a taste for the better life, and I hadn’t   
found it in my wanderings.  I began to think perhaps Daniel had the right idea.”  Remington sipped his tea  
while he reflected.  
  
“He never asked me where I’d been.  He wired me money and I met him in Greece.  We began conning   
our way from Italy to Ireland   Along the way, I developed a fair reputation as a thief.”  Remington   
smiled sadly.  “Those were fun times with Daniel.  Hard, frustrating, but fun nonetheless.”  
  
“Do you miss it?” Laura asked curiously.  
  
“I suppose I miss the challenge.  The cons were fun, and I loved the thrill of executing a perfect heist.  I   
don’t miss the wretched motels, sleeping in doorways, bad food or no food at all, and not knowing where   
I was going to be the next day.  I can say that I left that all behind by the time I got to Monte Carlo and   
the Riviera.”  
  
He smiled in reflection.  “Now that, Laura, was living the real 'high life.'  Swank hotels, fabulous food,   
and the smoldering atmosphere--I loved every second of it.  I still didn’t know who or what I would be   
the next day, but good Lord, we lived like kings.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“Daniel and Felicia, among others, depending on whom or if I was running with anyone at the moment.  I  
did a great deal of work alone at the time, but someone would pop in and we’d have a bit if fun.  Which   
all leads me to my current predicament.”  
  
He caught Laura’s shiver out of the corner of his eye.  “Don’t misunderstand me, Laura.  I have no   
desire to be anyone other than your Remington Steele.  Our life is more than I ever dreamed possible.”    
He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it.  “But Daniel worked quite hard to teach   
me certain skills and to take advantage of my natural abilities.  I feel as if I’m letting him down by letting   
them slip.”  
  
Laura frowned again.  “But you’re not slipping.  Those same abilities have made you a very good   
detective.  You pay attention to details and you connect them together quite well.  Plus, I’ve seen you   
shift consciously into character after character dozens of times.  I’m always been just a little bit jealous of  
how easily you do it.  That and the ability to get the information you need from the right people are   
priceless in detective work.  Do you know that most of the people I trained with at Havenhurst weren’t   
half the investigators after a decade that you were after only a couple of years?”  
  
“Laura, that’s due to an excellent teacher.”  
  
“No, it’s not, Rei.  That’s due to your brilliance and depth of experience.  Face it; you have a nose for a   
great con that eludes me time and again,” Laura assured him.  
  
“Hmm.  I hadn’t thought of it that way.”  He fell silent for a long time.  “It doesn’t change the fact that     
I’ve been off my game enough to fall for a good trick.”  Reluctantly he conceded, “Peterson did it   
perfectly.  He took advantage of a situation to find out a little more about me.”  He mused, “He is   
considered a good agent.  That’s something at least.  I’ll have to think about it some more.”  
  
She stood up and held out a hand to Remington.  “Can we do it in bed?  It’s early and I’m freezing out   
here.”  
  
“I think we can manage that.”  
  
Remington threw a couple of blocks of peat into the fireplace before snuggling under the covers with   
Laura.  She smiled and traced his cheek with her fingertip.  
  
“I get it.”  
  
“Get what?”  
  
“You.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Buchanan and Peterson are still the enemy.  You’re holding your cards close to your chest until the very   
last minute.”  
  
“Laura, they are still Interpol and I feel itchy just being here.  I’m not fooling myself.  If they want to go   
back on our agreement, they will, and I’ll be spending the rest of my life decorating a jail cell somewhere   
in the cold part of France.  The only reason I agreed to this is that I--good Lord, I hate to admit this--I   
don’t think we can wiggle out of this one by ourselves.  I think O’Callaghan’s deranged enough to send   
an assassin to kill us both.  We’re just not equipped to handle that much ... evil.  If I’m holding my cards   
close, it’s because if we do need to cut and run, I hope to have a few tricks that no one’s seen before.”  
  
He was being brutally honest with her, and, despite the warm covers, Laura shivered again.  Now she   
wondered if they would ever get home.  
  
  
  
Later that morning, Steele and Buchanan made arrangements to retrieve the diamond from Malone.    
Rory agreed to sell the stone to Remington for £70,000.  “I’m taking a loss on this for ye, Mick.”  
  
“Aye, I’m sure you’ll add it to my bill for the bracelet,” Steele shot back.  
  
Malone chortled, “I might.  Just promise me something, mate.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“If ye ever manage to cut a decent stone from the thing, don’t tell me about it.”  
  
“No promises, mate.  You’ll leave the stone where we agreed?”  
  
“Aye, I’m not liking this, but I’ll trust ye.  You’ve never done me wrong and I’m betting you’ll not start   
now.”  
  
“It’s good doing business with you, Malone.  The money will be there in morning.”  
  
  
  
Late that afternoon, Remington, Brian and Murphy made the four-hour drive to Dublin from Cork.    
Around midnight, Brian waited in the car while Remington and Murphy disarmed the single alarm Malone   
left working in his office.  
  
Remington found the raw diamond wrapped in silk and out of sight on Malone’s chair in his office.  The   
package was sitting on a stack of papers.  Steele tucked both of them into one jacket pocket and retrieved   
a cashier’s check from another.  He started to leave it on the desk but changed his mind.  With a   
mischievous grin he crossed to Malone’s office safe and, in seconds, spun the combination lock and   
found the sequence to open it.  He laid the check in the center of the strong box and closed the door.  
  
On Malone’s desk, he found a note pad and sketched a quick message which he hid in the top desk   
drawer.  Murphy reset the security system on the way out.  Steele left the door open a tiny crack.  Sixty   
seconds later, alarms blared.  The trio vanished before the _gardaí_ arrived.  
  
  
  
Peterson drove while Murphy watched for anyone following them.  “Damn Steele, you were right.  Third   
car back.”  
  
“Turn here,” Remington ordered.  
  
Peterson complied.  
  
“Take the next right and punch it.”  
  
Brian opened up the Saab in the alley.  
  
“Hard left and a right onto the freeway.  Take the first exit and make a U-turn to get back on the   
freeway.  We should lose them.”  Twenty minutes later, the little car darted out of town, alone on the   
highway in the early hours of the morning.  
  
Peterson glanced at Steele.  “You knew O’Callaghan would have the place watched.  You wanted it to   
look like you were breaking in.”  
  
“That’s the idea.  Keep him thinking I’m following his orders.”  
  
“What’s going to happen with Malone?”  
  
“Nothing.  He’ll be there by now.  No theft, nothing to report.  The _gardaí_ will assume his security   
system successfully deterred the thief.”  
  
“What about your note?”  
  
“ _Gardaí_ won’t know it was written tonight and Malone will play it off.”  
  
“You sound sure of yourself,” Peterson commented.  
  
“Aye.  I bought my wife’s bracelet from him.”  
  
“You’ve worked with him before.”  The agent sounded confident.  
  
Steele ignored the comment while he used his flashlight and loupe to examine the rock.  He turned it this   
way and that.  He borrowed Murphy’s pocket knife and scraped at a tiny bit of the rock.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” Peterson demanded.  
  
“Taking a good look at the merchandise.  At the moment, I own it.  Personal funds remember?  No way   
for O’Callaghan to track the money back to Interpol.”  He poked at it again with the knife and a little bit   
of rock fell away.  With lightning fast reflexes, he caught the small piece and wrapped it in a bit of silk.    
“Would you look at that,” he whistled under his breath.  “Malone’s going to be furious if he hears about   
this.”  
  
Murphy leaned over the back of the seat.  “What’s that?”  
  
“Remember he said no one wanted to cut it because of the flaws?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“A cutter won’t pick at it as I just did.  It’s too risky.  But I don’t have anything to lose.  Look there.”    
He handed the flashlight and loupe to Murphy.  
  
“What am I looking for?”  
  
“It’s clear.  It’s flawless.  No blemishes at all.  There’s at least a caret’s worth that can be cut from that.    
That’s more than enough for O’Callaghan to get the money he needs.”  
  
“You said these go for around a million a caret?”  
  
“American dollars, yes.”  
  
Murphy let out his own low whistle and then had another thought.  “Remington?  What did you mean   
you didn’t have anything to lose?  If you cracked that diamond, you wouldn’t be able to get your money   
back from Malone.”  
  
“I never planned on it.  You think Laura’s life isn’t worth that amount to me?”  
  
“Of course, but--”  
  
Steele interrupted him.  “The way I figure it, Murphy, one of three things could happen.  One, the   
diamond is flawed and we go with our original plan.  If it’s not, either the diamond can be salvaged from   
this operation and Laura gets a pretty little trinket on our next anniversary, or I can fence the bloody thing  
for whatever I can get and have enough money to protect Laura for a fair amount of time.”  
  
“But once O’Callaghan gets his hands on it, it’s all over.”  
  
“Whoever said he was going to get his filthy fingers on it?  The first rule of negotiation is making sure   
you have something the other man wants.  Besides, that isn’t part of his plan.  He told me that stealing   
the diamond was only the first step.”  
  
“What’s the second?”  
  
“What do you think?” Steele prompted.  
  
Murphy was quick.  “Getting the diamond to the buyer.”  
  
“In a nutshell.  I don’t get paid until I make the delivery and the diamond is verified.  The buyer will give   
me my percentage and wire the rest to O’Callaghan.  If the bastard still had Laura, he would have held   
her hostage until I made the delivery.”  
  
“What’s to keep you from getting killed in the process?”  
  
“Nothing.  It’s in O’Callaghan’s best interest at this point to see Laura and me dead.  We know too   
much.”  
  
“So what kept you alive in the past?”  
  
“The mere hope that the parties involved liked my services well enough to hire me again one day.  I   
never said it was an easy life, Murphy, just an exciting one.”  
  
Peterson ventured just one question.  “Steele, where did you learn all this?”  
  
“My father, of course.”  Remington stared out the window at the hundreds of stars in the midnight sky.  
  
  
  
As the _gardaí_ cleared out, Malone found the note.  
  
 _I left the check in a safe place for you._ _Mic_ _k_    
  
He spent the rest of the night doing inventory again.  In the morning, he deposited the check.  
  
  
  
It was nearly five in the morning when the trio returned to the safe house.  Remington slid into the bed   
beside Laura, waking her by nuzzling the back of her neck.  His long, talented fingers unbuttoned her   
pajama top without shifting the ruched silk and slid underneath to caress a soft breast.  
  
Laura smiled in the darkness and rolled to him, pleased to discover he wasn’t wearing a shirt.  She   
tangled her fingers in his chest hair.  “I take it your midnight foray was successful?”  She shivered while   
he plucked her nipple.  
  
“Naturally.  Mick O’Leary was only a shadow in the night.”  He kissed her throat.  
  
“I suppose I’ll have to think up a suitable reward.”  She trailed fingers down his body, discovering the   
rest of him was deliciously naked as well.  
  
“Well, we can’t exactly have all this adrenaline go to waste now, can we?”  He lowered his lips to hers   
and covered her body with his.  
  
  
  
Later in the afternoon, Murphy watched Remington glue the tiny fragment of rock back into place, using   
the loupe, a pair of tweezers, and a tiny bit of wire.  “Seems like a lot of work.”  
  
“If the buyer is convinced the stone is flawed, he won’t want it and our story will ring true.  If he thinks   
there’s even the slightest chance of cutting a stone from it, we haven’t a prayer.  When I’m done here,   
he’ll be convinced the stone is entirely riddled with flaws,” Steele absent-mindedly replied.  
  
“But if it’s flawed, the buyer won’t take it in the first place.”  
  
“I’m still working on that part.”  
  
  
  
When he was finished, he placed a call to O’Callaghan.  
  
 _Steele here.  I have the diamond.  
  
Yes, I heard about the ruckus at Eiré Tower last night.  I trust you left no evidence.  
  
Don’t insult me now.  
  
Of course not.  Meet me in Cork at nine tonight at Gleason’s Bar.  I want to see the goods.  
  
  
  
_While the overnight team slept, Laura spent the day with Mildred as the ex-IRS agent sifted through   
computer systems and files, compiling evidence along the way.  Buchanan’s team of computer geeks   
took copious notes and added their own expertise to the effort.  One by one, they filled in the pieces of   
the puzzle of information required to close down the Dublin Six.  
  
James and Laura picked apart her idea of the hit man over dinner.  Laura mused, “If O’Callaghan wants   
to hire an assassin to take out Carlisle, then he can’t use any of the traditional resources of the Six, right?”  
  
Buchanan tapped his fingers on the table.  “Well, now, Mrs. Steele, that’s bloody brilliant.  We know   
most of the ‘freelance’ hit men in the area.  It’s just a matter of figuring out who is available.”  
  
“How do we intercept the call?”  
  
“I’ve already got a team tapping into the phone lines of the castle.  If we have some idea of whom he   
might contact, we can have an agent pretend to be the assassin.”     
  
  
  
Buchanan stopped Steele as he shrugged on his black leather coat that evening.  “We've got agents in   
place, covering your back.  What’s your plan?”  
  
“To stay alive.”  Remington gave Laura a quick hug and captured her face for a sizzling kiss that had the   
rest of the room’s occupants looking away.  
  
“Be careful, Mr. Steele.  I’ll be waiting.”  
  
“Of course.  Just remember, I’m the kind of man who enjoys impossible challenges.”  
  
  
  
O’Callaghan was waiting in a small booth in the front corner of the bar.  Remington waived away the   
offered drink and sat across from the portly man.  In the dim light, the man’s face was shadowed and   
harsh.  “Good evening, Steele.  How’s your wife this evening?”  
  
“Perfectly well, thank you for asking.”  His tones were icily polite, giving away nothing.  
  
O’Callaghan waved his cigarette, wafting smoke into Steele’s eyes.  “I’d like to see what I’m paying you   
for.”  Without flinching, Steele unwrapped the stone and placed it on the table.  “My, my.  What a lovely   
thing to see.”  O’Callaghan picked up the stone and examined it with a loupe as if he knew what he was   
looking at.  
  
Steele inwardly smirked.  O’Callaghan doesn’t know a damn thing about gems.  Only a bloody idiot   
doesn’t bother having his own expert on hand.    
  
“Well, Steele, you’ve delivered on the first part of your task.  The second is to call this number.”  He slid   
a piece of paper across the table.  “Set up an exchange.  Your contact will pay you however you prefer.    
If you double-cross me and substitute an inferior stone, the contact has orders to take care of you   
personally.”  
  
“How do I know the contact doesn’t have those orders anyway?”  
  
“Steele, my boy, that wouldn’t be good for business.”  
  
“Neither was abusing my wife, but that didn’t seem to stop you,” Steele said politely.  
  
“Set up the exchange any way you like.  I don’t care how you do it.  Do it by Saturday.  And Steele,” the   
man shot him a dirty look before sipping his drink, “I know where the meet is to take place.  Don’t get   
any funny ideas about going home before then.”  
  
Remington nodded, rising from the table.  He took care to appear defeated as he walked out of the bar.    
It only took him two blocks to lose Peterson and another two to find a cab.  
  
  
  
From a pay phone on the edge of the city, Steele punched in the contact’s number.  The phone was   
answered on the first ring by a melodious female voice.  “Hello?”  
  
“Hello, Felicia.”

 

 


	23. Old Lovers

“Michael, darling, so good to hear from you.  However did you get this number?” her voice caressed   
through the phone lines.  
  
“It’s one you’ve used from time to time and I recognized it when a mutual acquaintance gave it to me.    
An old man named Denis.  Ring any bells?”  
  
“I didn’t know you were back in the business.  I hadn’t heard.  I knew that boring little Lisle couldn’t   
hold a man like you for long.”  
  
“If you only knew, Felicia.”  Remington rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned against the brick wall.    
“Why are you mixed up in this?”  
  
“Oh, darling, I couldn’t resist getting my hands on something so unique.  Rather like you.  I’ve missed   
you in my bed.  You’re quite inventive you know.  And such stamina.”  She moaned a little under her   
breath.  
  
“Felicia,” he pronounced her name syllable by syllable, “I’m quite serious.  What are you doing in this   
mess?”  
  
“At best, I’ll get my hands on a very unique gem; at worst, I’ll earn a nice fee.  I’m the gemologist that is   
supposed to convince my client that the red diamond is really a red diamond.”  
  
“I hope that’s all you have to do.”  
  
“Whatever do you mean?”  
  
“Malone told me three different cutters said it was worthless.  The auction house kept it quiet and they   
agreed on a small settlement when he decided to keep the stone”  
  
“Malone doesn’t lie.  Neither do you--to me, anyway.  Michael, I’ve been given orders to ‘shoot the   
messenger,’ so to speak, if the gem is not to my liking.  I’d rather not muss my silk sheets, so find a way   
out of this.”  
  
“I need you to do me a favor, Felicia.”  
  
“Hmmm, my favorite kind.  I can think of a few things you can do to me.  What is it?”  
  
Rapidly thinking through the possibilities, Steele selected one.  It was bold and brazen and brought a real   
smile to his face.  “I need you to let me set you up.  Convince the buyer that the stone is worthwhile at   
our meeting.  My men will ‘arrest’ you and get you clear while I convince your buyer to let the   
transaction go through.”  
  
“He’ll never do it with his own money.”  
  
“I’ll cover that.”  
  
“You’ve come up in the world, Michael.  That’s a lot of cash.”  
  
“Clean living, Felicia, and a lot of luck.”  
  
“Lady Luck has always smiled kindly on you.  So tell me,” she purred, “what do I get out of this?”  
  
“Ah, twenty thousand.  No gems, but you wouldn’t want this one anyway.”  
  
“Oh, Michael, for you, I’ll do it for that pittance.  I expect you to make it up to me afterwards.  One   
thing though, why are you doing this?”  
  
“I’m setting up O’Callaghan.  He needs a lot of money for something and I need to know why.”  
  
“Well, of course, he does.  Carlisle is holding O’Callaghan’s daughter hostage.  You know he had a thing   
for Erin and her daughter is her spitting image.  O’Callaghan’s so busy paying off Carlisle to keep her   
alive that he’s not paying attention to his own business.”  
  
“He does have a daughter then.”  
  
“Of course.  And Denis is stupid enough to think that if he quits paying Johnny that Johnny will hurt the   
girl or kill her for spite.  But Johnny wouldn’t touch a hair on her pretty little head because she belongs to   
Erin.”  
  
“So what is O’Callaghan going to do with the money?”  
  
“I don’t know, but my best guess is that he’s going to get rid of Carlisle.  It’s the only way he’ll get his   
daughter free of him.”  
  
As usual, Laura was sharp as a tack, for she had suggested the same scenario earlier with half the   
information.  “What a tangled web we weave,” Remington muttered softly.  
  
“Michael, you still haven’t told me why you’re in this.  You always told me to stay away from the Six.”  
  
“They got to Laura,” he said simply.  
  
“Oh, dear.  I told you that you were smitten with Lisa.  Have you managed to entice her into your bed   
yet or is she still the ice queen?”  
  
“I married her two years ago, Felicia.”  
  
“Damn.  I don’t suppose you want to warm my bed for old times’ sake then?”  
  
“As lovely as the offer truly is, I have to pass on this one.  Laura is quite the jealous wife.”  
  
“She’s so stuffy.  I don’t know what you see in her.”  
  
Remington smiled in spite of the situation.  “Felicia, I think the better question is ‘what does she see in   
me?' ”  
  
“Oh, darling, I’ll spell it out chapter and verse.  Now tell me what I’m supposed to do again and exactly   
how I’m going to get paid.”    
  
  
  
Steele strolled into the safe house, whistling a happy tune.  
  
“Damn it, Steele!  I told you to let my team cover you, and the first thing you do is give us the slip,”   
Buchanan yelled.  Peterson sat on the sofa near Mrs. Steele nursing his soft drink, content to let his   
senior do the berating.    
  
“Sorry, lads.  We have an unexpected development that just might solve all our problems,” he shot back.    
He crossed to Laura and kissed her full on the lips before sitting on the arm of the chair next to her and   
winking at Mildred.  “An old friend happens to be the contact.  I’ve cut a deal already, but I want   
guarantees that Interpol will leave my friend alone.”  
  
Peterson turned a little green.  “You get your slate wiped clean and now you want to start helping your   
friends?”  
  
Steele leaned forward into Peterson’s face.  “I will do whatever is necessary to protect Laura.  If that   
means lying, cheating, stealing, or bringing in Interpol, I will do whatever is bloody necessary.  If I have   
to call in every buggering contact and favor I have in Europe, O’Callaghan will never get his hands on her  
again.  I’m playing this your way because it’s what Laura wants me to do.  But if your little operation   
can’t make this happen, we’ll do it with mine.”  His voice was pure steel.  
  
But Brian stood up, forcing him back.  “What you forget, Blaine, is that for now I’m on your side.    
Pissed off, but I’ve got your back.  That gives me the right to question your motives from time to time.”  
  
“I’ve already told you my motives.  Understand those and everything else I do will make sense.  Now,   
are you going to cut my friend some slack here or do we have to throw away our best chance of nailing   
the buggering bastard to the wall?”  
  
Peterson and Buchanan exchanged looks.  Finally, Buchanan shrugged.  “This time.  No promises about   
next time.”  
  
“That’s all I’m asking.  Mildred, she’ll recognize you, so I need you at the drop.  Murphy, I want you   
backing up Mildred.  You two will be playing indeterminate security forces for the evening.”  
  
Laura sat straight up in her chair.  “She?  Felicia?  Felicia’s your contact?”  
  
Remington grinned.  “Couldn’t have asked for a better stroke of fate.”  Peterson slammed his fist into the   
nearest wall.  “Ah, I see you have a fat file on her as well.”  Remington was amused at the man’s   
reaction.  “Shall we move to the table and I’ll lay out the logistics?”    
  
  
  
The exchange was to take place tomorrow night in London at a small restaurant in Chelsea.  Remington,   
Murphy and Mildred planned to fly out in the morning from Cork.  They wanted to give O’Callaghan   
every opportunity to see that Steele was following through on his end.  Peterson and two of his agents   
would follow in a chartered flight provided by Interpol and land at a small private airport.  Both teams   
were to survey the small restaurant and set up decent vantage points to protect Steele as much as possible   
from any sort of double-cross or assassination.  After the transaction, the entire team would spend the   
night in London at a small hotel before returning to Cork the following day.  
  
In the meantime, Buchanan was arranging for his agent to meet with Johnny Carlisle.  He had thought   
Laura’s suggestion was an excellent one.  One of his ongoing problems with reeling in the Dublin Six was  
their amazing insularity.  Sometimes the right person at the right time could be insinuated into an   
operation just in time to tip things Interpol’s way.  
  
Buchanan planned to remain behind with Laura.  For one, he needed to run the operation at the castle   
and two, Steele wouldn’t budge if Laura was as risk.  The safe house was the best place for her to be in   
this circumstance.  
  
Remington suspiciously eyed his wife, wondering why she wasn’t insisting on going to London with him.    
He had his arguments primed and ready, but when Buchanan quelled Laura’s opening volley, she   
subsided without a word.  
  
In bed that night he tried to figure out why.  “Laura, I’m surprised at you.  I rather thought you would   
want to come along.  Especially since Felicia is involved.”  
  
“I’d love to be there, but let’s face it, you don’t need me.  You’ve got Murphy and Mildred.  In fact, I’d   
be a major distraction to you, the way I see it.”  She was quite blunt.  Remington couldn’t detect any   
hesitation or fear in her voice.  And he couldn’t disagree with her either.  “Do I need to worry about   
Felicia?” she asked, trailing her hands down his throat.  
  
“No.”  He nipped at her finger.  
  
“I didn’t think so.”  
  
“Are you saying you’re not the jealous type?”  
  
“Rei, jealousy implies a certain lack of trust.  Not of her, but of you.  I trust you.  What I would like to   
know is, what are the chances in a thousand that she would be your contact?”  
  
“Actually, pretty good, since we’re supposed to be fencing stolen merchandise that happens to be   
expensive and pretty.  But it’s still a nice piece of luck.”  He stroked her hair, enjoying the feel of the   
strands falling through his fingers.  
  
“Then I’ll have to thank her for it later.  I just hope she doesn’t cause any trouble for you.”  She pressed   
her lips to his collarbone.  
  
“Felicia?  Only if it’s for her own gain.  I’ve got that covered.  Honor among thieves and all that.”  He   
shifted, pulling her on top of him.  He forgot about her knee as she straddled him.  
  
“How?”  She stripped off her night shirt, exposing her bare body to him in the pale moonlight.  
  
“I’ll tell you later.  Right now, you happen to be a significant source of distraction to me.  You wouldn’t   
want to send me off pining for you, would you, and with the image of you like this burned into my   
brain?”  His hands stroked her waist and thighs.  
  
“We couldn’t have that now, could we?  I’d much rather have you thinking of this.”  Remington closed   
his eyes as Laura’s mouth scorched a trail down his body.  
  
  
  
Fifteen minutes after the three detectives left for the flight to England, Laura threw her small carry-on   
bag in the pile next to Peterson’s.  Buchanan leaned against the front door.  “You’re not going.”  
  
“I can either catch this flight or the next one; it’s your choice, but I’m going to London.”  Her voice was   
calm, but very firm.  
  
“Mrs. Steele, I cannot allow you to be a part of this operation.  I promised Mr. Steele.”  
  
“I’m not asking to be a part of this operation.  I know I would only be a liability.  I’m not interested in   
breaking Remington’s concentration.  But I’m going to be in London and wait for him to come home.  It’  
s safer for me to fly on your plane, but if you won’t let me aboard, I’ll catch the next flight from Cork.”  
  
Buchanan crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Laura.  “Why?” he asked.  
  
“We spent too many years wasting time.  I’ll be there when he’s done.”  
  
“You’re still injured.”  
  
“Not by much.  I couldn’t run a triathlon, but I can hold my own.”  
  
“You know he’s going to call here.”  
  
“No, he won’t.  He’ll call when it’s done, and by then, he’ll have already found me.”  She sounded very   
sure of herself.  
  
“Do you know where you’re going?”  
  
“I even have a set of keys.”  
  
Buchanan shrugged.  “This is between you and Steele.  As long as you stay out of the operation and   
agree to a bodyguard, I’ll put you on the plane.”  
  
  
  
That promise only lasted an hour.  Laura was changing clothes when she heard the phone ring and   
Buchanan’s subsequent swearing that echoed through the little house.  Curious, she eased down the stairs   
and ostensibly poured a cup of coffee.  
  
Buchanan had his jaw clenched and arms crossed while he glared at the telephone.  
  
“Coffee?” she offered.  
  
“Ah, no, thank you though.”  Buchanan closed his eyes and tipped his head back.  “I’m going to regret   
this.”  
  
“What’s that?” Laura made sure her voice was neutral.  
  
“Our agent that was to make contact with Carlisle was in a car accident an hour ago.  She’ll be okay, but   
she’s in surgery for a ruptured gall bladder.  There isn’t any way she can make the meet tonight.”  
  
Laura waited patiently, forcing him to make the request.  
  
“I don’t have another agent that matches her description that I can get here and prep in time for the   
meet.  The two of you have relatively the same build and coloring, so I can substitute her back in later.    
Will you go?”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“London.  Little place called La Gavroche.  We know he has reservations for eight this evening.”  
  
“What do I have to do?”  
  
“Figure out a way to get the information to him.  If O’Callaghan makes the call, I want you to pass that   
on.  If he doesn’t, I want you to let Carlisle know about the money from the diamond.”  
  
“You’re assuming that my husband pulls off tonight without a hitch.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.  I don’t have any reason to believe it will fail.”  
  
“Who will be covering me?”  
  
“My agent’s partner.  He’s already in place as a waiter.”  
  
“All I have to do is pass the information and get out?”  
  
“Yes.  Once Cynthia is back on her feet, she can take it from there.”  
  
“You can shake the tail when I’m done?”  
  
“Guaranteed.”  
  
“Then I’ll do it.”  Now, how am I to explain this to Remington?  
  
“Excellent.”  Buchanan heaved a sigh.  “Got any ideas how to pull this off?”  
  
“Actually, I do.”  
  
  
  
Peterson dropped Laura off at Daniel’s flat in London four hours later.  Remington and the others were   
avoiding the house just in case they were being followed.  Instead, they canvassed the area and ate lunch   
across the street from the restaurant.  
  
Buchanan reported to Peterson that the possible hit men had been narrowed down to two.  An agent was   
tapped in to the phone lines, poised to intercept the call.  
  
By seven forty-five that evening, the agents, along with Murphy and Mildred, were in place.  At eight,   
the detectives watched a statuesque blonde stroll into the restaurant, escorted by a swarthy gentleman   
somewhat shorter than she.  They had a table reserved in a quiet corner of the restaurant, resplendent   
with white linen and chandeliers.  
  
Ten minutes later, Remington, in his guise as Michael O’Leary, took his seat across from the pair,   
making sure his back blocked the public’s view of the transaction about to take place.  In his weathered   
leather coat and cap, he looked odd in the elegant room, especially with Felicia looking scrumptious in a   
white gown with thin straps holding up the bodice.  
  
Felicia introduced herself as Katherine DeBurgh and her escort as August Léglise, a wealthy Frenchman   
with an eye for the unusual.  
  
“So you’re the toff who wants to buy the rock,” O’Leary declared in a rough Irish accent, spattered with   
the odd Cockney phrasing.  
  
"Katherine" translated for the Frenchman, who nodded and shrugged.  O’Leary pulled the package from   
his coat and handed it to Léglise.  The buyer tugged off the wrappings and turned the stone this way and   
that.  It was obvious he had no idea what he was to look for.  Without a word, he handed the stone to   
Katherine for examination.  
  
She used her own flashlight and loupe to examine the rock in careful detail, one small section at a time.    
She brought out a tiny testing kit and carefully checked the exposed part of the diamond for authenticity   
and color.  The whole process took nearly thirty minutes.  O’Leary and Léglise quietly sipped their drinks  
while she studied the rock.  
  
Steele mentally applauded Felicia for her diligence.  She probably knew more about the diamond now   
than he did, and he was sure he would have to account for it later.  All in all, she would have made an   
excellent gemologist, but since that too closely resembled actual work, it would never hold any appeal for  
her.  
  
Felicia winked at him before rewrapping the stone and putting away the testing kit.  In French, she   
explained to Léglise that the rock could be carefully cut to reveal approximately a one caret diamond.  
  
Inwardly, Remington smiled.  He hadn’t fooled her for a minute.  The rest would be up to him.  
  
Léglise grinned broadly and spewed French at her while he kissed her hand.  She laughed and waved him   
away.  “He’s quite excited and wants to close the deal.  I recommend a price of £575,000 for the uncut   
stone.  He has a cutter that is willing to take on the risk.  
  
“No deal, O’Callaghan wants eight-fifty.”  O’Leary shoved his bottle away while Katherine explained the  
price.  The Frenchman frowned and counter-offered with £650,000.  
  
O’Leary shook his head and made to leave, giving her a little buss on the hand and pocketing the stone.    
Léglise made one more demand and she stopped him from leaving.  “£750,000.  Last offer.”  
  
O’Leary sat down and shook the Frenchman’s hand.  “Done.”  
  
Léglise flagged a waiter and had a telephone brought to the table.  O’Leary slid a sheet of paper, signed   
by O’Callaghan, across the table.  Via phone, Léglise transferred £600,000 to the account number written   
on the paper.  With a raised pair of eyebrows at the percentage, he transferred another £150,000 to an   
account O’Leary provided.  
  
When the Frenchman hung up, Steele gave a signal behind his back.  Peterson, Mildred and Murphy   
stepped into view.  Remington removed his cap and made one of those shifts from O’Leary to "Jacques   
Murrell" as he switched to speaking perfect French.  He placed his card on the table.  
  
“Remington Steele of Remington Steele Investigations, Mr. Léglise.  I’m quite sorry to inform you that   
this woman is attempting to pass off a worthless gem to you.  Three certified diamond cutters have   
ascertained that the stone is terribly flawed.”  He introduced the Interpol man.  “This is agent Brian   
Peterson, specialist in tracking international jewel thieves.”  Peterson flipped out his identification and laid   
it on the table as well.  
  
“Worthless?  Thieves?  How?”  Léglise was taken aback.  
  
Steele’s tone was mild as he reseated himself at the table.  “Because the man who contracted for the   
theft didn’t know it was worthless.  Miss DeBurgh is not a certified gemologist.  She’s a con artist in her   
own right.  Peterson here has a file three inches thick on her exploits.”  
  
“Four, actually,” Peterson sneered truthfully.  “Let’s go, Miss DeBurgh.”  Murphy and Mildred yanked   
her out of the seat while she protested her innocence.  Murphy snapped handcuffs on Katherine while   
she elegantly disputed their claims.  The rest of the diners in the restaurant leaned to and fro, trying to get   
a sense of the sudden commotion.  
  
“Hold her in the car until I get there.  I want to be present when you take her in, Peterson,” Steele   
ordered.  “Krebs, Michaels, do not let her out of your sight.  She’s as slippery as they come.”  He   
watched as the detectives escorted the woman to the waiting car.  Brian took his own chair at the table   
while Steele turned his attention back to the Frenchman.  
  
“Now, Mr. Léglise, my apologies for the setup.  We were required to wait until the transaction was   
committed before having the authority to remedy the situation.  I suggest you change your bank account   
used for this business immediately so that your funds cannot be further compromised.  We will work   
closely with the Irish authorities to retrieve your funds.  In the meantime, I have a cashier’s check of   
£20,000 for your troubles.”  Steele removed an envelope from his black jacket and handed it to the   
astonished man.  
  
Peterson jerked in surprise.  No one at Interpol authorized a cashier’s check.  Léglise accepted the check   
with alacrity, shook hands with the men, and fled without another word.  
  
Steele grinned and patted Peterson on the shoulder.  “That went well.  Not too bad for your first time.”    
The agent frowned as he worked his way through the scenario.  
  
The men walked out of the restaurant and slid into the waiting car.  Murphy had already removed     
Felicia’s handcuffs and waited with her in the backseat while Mildred took the front.  Remington ducked   
into the back with the others while Peterson took the driver’s seat.  
  
“Absolutely perfect, Felicia.”  He kissed her on the lips as Brian pulled into traffic.  
  
“Bloody fucking hell!” Peterson suddenly yelled.  Felicia and Remington began snickering, then outright   
laughing.  
  
“Took you long enough,” Steele snorted.  
  
Murphy and Mildred exchanged quizzical looks.  “Boss?  What’d I miss?”  
  
“Ms. Krebs, why would a man be willing to take a mere £20,000 in exchange for £750,000?”  
  
“Because he had the gem already?”  
  
“No.”  Steele held up the silk-covered stone, still wearing an ear-to-ear grin.  
  
“Ah, then it’s because he’s guilty of something and doesn’t want to be caught.  Could it be that he knew   
the diamond was stolen?”  Steele tapped his nose, indicating she'd gotten it exactly right.  
  
Felicia dug around under the seat in front of her and drew out a bottle of champagne and four glasses.    
Sometimes Michael was so predictable.  She kicked one of the glasses back under the seat.  “Michael,   
darling, you’ll have to share with me.”  She handed the bottle to him and he popped the cork and poured.  
  
“What do we want to bet that August Léglise doesn’t exist?” Murphy mused.  
  
“No takers on that one, mate.”  Remington laughed.  
  
“So if Mr. Léglise doesn’t exist and he closes the account as soon as he gets to a phone, how do we   
return his money?” Murphy wondered aloud.  
  
Peterson snarled, “We don’t.  We might be able to trace the other six hundred, but your boy here just got   
away scott-free with his fee.”  
  
“Ah, there was nothing illegal about my transaction.  I was paid to deliver a package,” Steele said.  “It   
was entirely legal.  It’s not my fault the diamond wasn’t stolen.  In fact, I had a perfectly legal right to sell  
it, although I’m not currently in the market to do so.”  
  
“You’re an expensive courier service, Steele,” Peterson remarked.  
  
“Not my problem, mate.”  
  
Murphy scratched his neck as he worked it out in his mind.  “If I’ve got this right, you laid out £70,000   
for the red diamond from Malone.”  
  
“Darling, you didn’t actually pay him for it.  I’m ashamed at your moral standards,” Felicia drawled to   
Steele.  She drank from his champagne glass with one hand and used the other to toy with his hair.  
  
“Then you were paid by Léglise for the delivery of the stone, which was twenty-five percent of the   
total,” the detective continued.  
  
“£150,000, Mr. Michaels,” Felicia put in.  
  
“And you gave Léglise a check for £20,000 for his ‘troubles,’ as you put it,” snarled Peterson as he took   
a hard left turn.  
  
“I’m quite disappointed in you, Michael, you only gave me twenty for mine,” Felicia sighed and patted   
him on the thigh.  “I expect you to make it up to me later.”  
  
“So if my math is right, you netted £40,000,” Murphy mused.  
  
“And Laura’s bracelet is sure to cost me that, so all in all, it’s been a good night.  Cheers!”  Steele took a   
healthy drink of champagne and grinned at Peterson’s sour face in the rearview mirror.  
  
  
  
At the motel, Remington flagged down a taxi.  He told Mildred, “I’m taking Felicia to a safe place for the   
night.  I still don’t trust Interpol and Peterson’s fairly miffed at the whole charade.”  
  
“Are we going to a certain inheritance?”  
  
“Can’t put anything past you, can I, Mildred?  I’ll be back in a while.”  He gave her a quick hug while   
Felicia slid into the taxi.  
  
“Sure thing, boss.”  She waved him off, wondering if he knew what he was doing.  
  
  
  
In the taxi, Remington and Felicia couldn’t keep the smiles from their faces.  It had been a long time   
since they pulled off a perfect scam together.  The fact that it was underneath Interpol’s noses only   
added a fillip of excitement to the night.  
  
It was all too easy to fall into an easy routine of flirting and heavy innuendos as the taxi careened through   
the streets of London.  By the time, Remington drew Felicia from the taxi-cab, they were high from the   
excitement and dashed up the stairs to the flat, laughing as he picked the lock.  “Damn, I can’t believe I   
forgot the key.”  
  
“Hurry, darling, I’m getting impatient.”  
  
“Ah, there it is.”  The door swung open and she strolled through.  When he shut and locked it, he asked,   
“Impatient for what?”  
  
“For this.”  Felicia dropped her coat to the floor and fixed her mouth on his.  Automatically his lips closed  
on hers, sliding into the familiar kiss.  “Oh, darling, you taste divine,” she purred.  Her hand streaked   
down the buttons on his shirt, releasing them in the process, and wandered farther south.  “Look, there   
you are.  I was quite afraid you had forgotten about me.”  
  
Remington groaned low in his throat, “Felicia, you could wake a dead man three days after he’s been   
buried.”  His hands clutched her waist.  
  
“Damn, Michael, I’ve missed you,” she breathed between kisses.  “Such creativity, such stamina.  No   
one else ... measures up.”

 

 


	24. Deception

The limousine picked up Laura at precisely nine o’clock in the evening.  Five minutes into the drive, the   
car phone rang.  “Hello?”  
  
“Buchanan here.  O’Callaghan took the bait.  He made the call ten minutes after the money came   
through.  Our agent here intercepted it and we’re moving in for the arrest.  You’re cleared for the meet.”  
  
“I’m on it.”  Laura leaned back against the seat, soothing her own nerves by thinking through the   
possibilities.  Buchanan had given her a photo of Carlisle and a map of the restaurant which she studied   
on the flight.   Deliberately, she left both on the plane.  If Remington found them at Daniel’s flat, he   
would be furious.  She still wasn’t sure how she was going to explain this to him.  
  
She winced slightly as she shifted her wedding ring to the opposite hand.  It matched the long ruby   
chandeliers that Remington gave her last Christmas and currently adorned her ears.  With her hair coiffed   
under the hat, her neck was bare, drawing attention to her elegant throat.  
  
The limo halted at the front door of the restaurant.  Wearing the same red dress from a week ago, Laura   
angled her hat and let the doorman assist her from the car.  She strolled through, turning every head in   
the place.  Carlisle was sitting at a large table at the back along with four other men.  She deliberately   
caught his eye as she perched on a bar stool and then turned her back to him and ordered a drink.  
  
It took only five minutes for the waiter to appear with a glass of champagne “from the gentleman at the   
table over there.”  Laura accepted it and pretended to sip it.  She turned around and caught Carlisle’s   
eye, giving him a mock toast.  He shot her a sly grin.  
  
Minutes later, one of his henchmen invited her to the table, but Laura shook her head.  “I don’t sit at the   
table of men I don’t know.  But I’d love to have him join me.”  
  
The lackey was surprised but returned to the table.  Moments later, Carlisle took a seat next to Laura.    
She gave him the expected once-over out of the corner of her eye before turning to face him fully.  He   
was taller than she expected, nearly Remington’s height, with blue-grey eyes and dark hair.  In a   
melodious British accent, she flirted, “Thanks for the drink.”  
  
“My pleasure.  You’re a beautiful woman.  How is it that someone as beautiful as you is all alone   
tonight?”  
  
Laura nearly choked.  Couldn’t he have come up with a better line?  “Perhaps because I have someone   
to meet.”  
  
“And who might that be?”  
  
“You, Johnny.”  She said it with a flirtatious smile.  
  
Now Carlisle frowned.  He hadn’t told her his name.  “You know who I am?”  
  
“Of course, Johnny.  And I’ve got information for you.”  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
She ignored the question.  “O’Callaghan’s got hold of some money--quite a bit, in fact, and he ordered a   
hit on you thirty minutes ago.  Interpol intercepted the call and they’ve already arrested him--in Cork I   
think.  Seems he stirred up a bit of trouble along the way.  I hope your books are clean, because his aren’  
t.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
“A girl’s got to make a living somehow.”  
  
“Who do you work for?”  
  
“Me.”  
  
“You’re telling me that you just thought I should have this little ‘tidbit’ of information?”  
  
“Sure.  But if you’re not interested, that’s fine by me.  I know the rules.  I get the information and share   
it with those that might benefit.  If you like what I tell you, I get paid and I forget all about whatever I   
just told you.”  
  
Carlisle shoved away from the bar and dug in his jacket pocket.  He slipped out several large pound notes   
and dropped them next to Laura’s champagne glass.  She fanned them out and waited.  
  
He dropped three more on the pile.  She smiled and folded them up, tucking them into her pocket as she   
slid off the barstool.  “Nice doing business with you, Johnny.”  
  
“You never told me your name.”  
  
“Call me Mickey.  Because I won’t remember this conversation in the morning.”  She flashed him a wide   
smile and strolled out of the restaurant.  
  
Johnny Carlisle swore as he watched her strut out the door and get into the waiting limousine.  He   
motioned to one of his men to follow her.    
  
The limo dropped her off two miles from the restaurant.  She walked into the front of one bar and out   
the back to a waiting black car.  There she took a call from Buchanan in which he told her that O’  
Callaghan had been arrested on a laundry list of charges, starting with attempted murder and kidnapping.    
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as the car pulled away.  
  
When the driver was sure she wasn’t being followed, he took her to Daniel’s flat.

 

 


	25. Friends

“Felicia.”  Remington gently disengaged the woman’s hands from his body.  He pressed a kiss to each of   
them.  “I won’t do this, Felicia.  Laura means too much to me.”  
  
“Oh, what does Lily have to do with it?  A tumble for the night and she would never know.  I certainly   
won’t tell.”  She pressed her body into Remington’s, wiggling while she leaned.  
  
“Felicia, no.  Not tonight, not ever.”  He held her away from him, gently, but firmly.  
  
“Well, damn.  You’ve turned me down three times since you’ve become smitten with Leila.  I’m not   
going to ask again.  You’ll just have to beg and crawl when you’re through with her.  Now, if you’re not   
going to indulge me in bed, then you’re damned well going to drink with me.”  She whirled away and   
seated herself gracefully on the sofa.   
  
“I can do that, gladly.”  Remington rummaged through the tiny kitchen for a pair of champagne flutes   
and grabbed a bottle of Dom from the refrigerator.  He always kept a couple of bottles chilling, one of his   
exacting requirements as a landlord.  He popped open the bottle and sat near his friend, pouring each of   
them a glass.  Remington sipped his champagne while Felicia knocked hers back.   
  
“Michael, do you remember Italy?”  She tangled her fingers in his hair again.  
  
“Which part?”  
  
“Oh, the one in Florence where we romped through the Silver Museum.”   
  
“Ah, yes, how can we forget the time I nearly dropped half the loot on the way out the window.”   
  
“We lived like kings for a year after that.  God, that cruise on the Mediterranean was fabulous!”  
  
“Mm, yes.  The food was amazing!”  
  
“Oh, what is it with you and food?” she exclaimed.  “I seem to remember you and a sloe-eyed Greek girl   
that didn’t leave the cabin for three days.  She didn’t walk straight for the rest of the trip.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, what about the Turkish lad that nearly threw himself off the ship when you told him you   
wouldn’t marry him?”  
  
“Posh, that was just a little misunderstanding.  You led him around soon enough.”  
  
“I did at that.”   
  
“Michael, I’ve got to ask.  Just what is it with Lindsay?”  
  
“Laura.  Why?  Are you jealous?”  He arched a brow and sipped his drink.  
  
“Not particularly.  I just don’t see the attraction.  I mean, darling, really, she’s all wrapped up in her   
agency and she’s so, so quiet.”   
  
“Felicia, you don’t really want me to sing her praises to you, do you?”  
  
“Not especially, but I would like to know what she’s got on you?”  
  
Remington smiled.  “She loves me.  No reservations, no holds barred.  And she expects me to love her   
the same way.  She has from the day I met her.  It’s a challenge I couldn’t possibly resist.”  
  
“But it’s such a simple life.  Going to work, coming home, repeat ad nauseum.”   
  
Remington laughed uproariously.  “Felicia, you have no idea.  Simple does not apply to Laura Holt.”  
  
Felicia pouted and laid her head on his shoulder.  “Does this mean I have to like her?”  
  
“No, but it would make my life tremendously easier.”   
  
  
  
Laura knew she was in trouble when she saw lights in the flat.  Taking a deep breath, she slipped the key   
in the door and opened it, catching both Remington and Felicia by surprise.  The blonde hardly shifted   
from his shoulder, just slanted her head in Laura’s direction.  Remington was sprawled on the sofa with   
his shirt half-open and his feet propped up on the coffee table.  He had one arm around Felicia and the   
other hand was loosely holding a champagne glass.   
  
“Laura!”  In a knee-jerk reaction, Remington automatically glanced down at himself and Felicia to see if   
they were in an incriminating position.  Then he narrowed his blue eyes at his wife.  “Where have you   
been?”  She was dressed in the same siren-red outfit from last week.  “And why are you here instead of   
with Buchanan in Cork?”  
  
He shifted Felicia off his shoulder, set his glass on the table and crossed to her.  “Laura?”  He could see   
she was putting up her defenses.  
  
“Buchanan needed my help.”  
  
“You did not meet with Johnny Carlisle.”  His voice was harsh.   
  
“I did.”  
  
“God damn it, Laura!”  Remington snatched a pretty vase off a nearby table and flung it across the   
room.  “We get clear of one of the bloody Six and you walk us right into another one!”  He stalked   
across the room, flinging curses along the way until he restrained the urge to strangle her.  Returning to   
stand in front of her, he gripped her shoulders and then pulled her into a tight embrace.  “Buggering hell,   
love, this is too big for us.  I want to go home and get away from this nightmare.”   
  
She tilted her head back so she could see his face.  He frowned.  “Laura, why are your eyes blue?”     
  
“Do you want to hear me out?”  
  
He stepped back, jammed his hands in his pockets and sighed.  “This better be good.”  He found a   
toothpick in his pocket and began chewing on it nervously while he paced.   
  
Felicia drank her champagne and watched the match with much amusement.  She had no idea that Leslie   
could stand toe-to-toe with Michael.  Not to mention that this was only the second time she had seen the   
petite brunette in anything other than a sensible suit.  Red was definitely her color and the shoes were to   
die for.    
  
“First, I’m not an idiot.  The agent that was to meet with Carlisle was injured in a car accident earlier.    
She’s a blue-eyed Brit.  Tonight, I was too.”   
  
“Since when can you pull off an English accent?”  
  
Changing the sound of her voice, she said, “Darling, since I’ve spent the last six years listening to yours.”  
  
Felicia coughed to cover a laugh.  This was turning out to be fun.  
  
Laura’s whole demeanor changed as she shifted into character.  She slyly strutted across the room and   
explained.  “I told Johnny about Denis.  Told him Denis was in the clink and Johnny better have his   
books clean.  He paid me too.”  She stopped, skimming a single finger down Remington’s bare throat   
before retrieving the wad of cash from her pocket and shoving it at him.   
  
He frowned again, counting it with hardly a glance.  Two thousand.  Not bad for an amateur.  “You--a   
snitch?   
  
“If he buys it, Interpol has their link into his organization.”  
  
“And if he doesn’t?”  
  
“If he links Mickey to you--“  
  
“Mickey?”  
  
She shifted out of character and resumed her normal voice as she paced in the living room.  “Me.  Follow   
me on this one.  First, if Carlisle manages to connect ‘Mickey’ to ‘Mick O’Leary,’ he won’t wonder why   
Mick’s girl is passing information to him.  He’ll assume I’m just a snitch using your connections.”  
  
“Second, if Carlisle links Mick O’Leary to Remington Steele, he’s sure to find out what happened to us   
and then to O’Callaghan.  And if he thinks that you’re capable of bringing down O’Callaghan, he won’t   
be interested in crossing you.  You’re no longer a streetwise thief; you’re a major player, capable of   
pulling in the resources you need to deal with the Six.  But we’re going to go home.  By sending me in to   
pass the tip to Carlisle, you’re letting him know that O’Callaghan’s been dealt with and you’re washing   
your hands of the mess.”  
  
Still fuming, Remington tried to find the holes in her logic.  “If he does make the connection, Interpol   
doesn’t get their link.”  
  
“That’s their problem.  I promised you that the Six would leave you alone.  Today I had the perfect   
opportunity to make good on that promise.  Besides, if Interpol can’t trace backwards from                    
O’Callaghan’s financial records to Carlisle, then they don’t deserve the badges they wear.”   
  
Felicia looked at Laura with new respect for her convoluted and laser sharp logic.  “Why’d you pick the   
name ‘Mickey'?”  
  
“Mick--Mickey.  I’m hoping Carlisle’s smarter than he looks.  Plus I told him that a little money makes   
sure that I don’t remember anything in the morning.”  She shot the other woman a smile.  “If he misses   
that one, he deserves to have Interpol infiltrate his entire organization from the top down.”  
  
Felicia didn’t even bother to cover her laugh this time.  
  
Laura stopped in front of her husband.  “Want to hear the best part?”  Remington arched a brow at her.    
“Since we warned Johnny about the books, if any financial transactions from O’Callaghan track back to   
him, he’ll automatically assume we didn’t have anything to do with it.  Especially if we make sure we   
stay out of his way until Interpol is finished.”  
  
Felicia started clapping.  “Damn, Michael.  Maybe I do get what you see in her.”  She cocked her head at   
Laura and rose from the sofa.  “I should be jealous.”   
  
Laura and Felicia stood face-to-face for a moment.  Laura’s eyes slid to Remington’s face, then back to   
the blonde’s.  
  
Remington was wary, not sure of what was going to happen.  “Ah, Laura--” he started to intervene.  
  
But one more time, Laura surprised the hell out of him.  She took Felicia’s hands in hers and leaned up   
to kiss her cheek.  “Thank you, Felicia.  You kept him safe.  You’re a good friend to him.  And you have   
my heartfelt thanks for both.”  
  
Felicia hesitated, then nodded, unsure if Laura was playing straight with her.  “You’re welcome.”   
  
“I assume you need a place to stay tonight.  Feel free to use the second bedroom.  As for me, I’m going   
to get out of these shoes and ice my knee for a while.”  Laura shot Remington a hard look before   
ascending the staircase.   
  
“Laura?” he called to her.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Why did you come here?”  
  
“Because I knew you wouldn’t stay anywhere else.  I wanted to be here when you came home.”  Her   
voice floated down as she disappeared into the larger of the two rooms upstairs.   
  
Remington exchanged a long look with Felicia and then excused himself to follow Laura.   
  
Felicia shrugged and retrieved her glass of champagne.  This night wasn’t turning out quite as she   
anticipated, but the entertainment value was an unexpected bonus.  She strolled upstairs, curious to know   
if Michael was going to grovel or gain the upper hand with Lila.   
  
  
  
Laura had changed into casual clothes and was in the process of hanging up the red dress when   
Remington leaned against the door frame.   
  
“I suspect I’m supposed to offer an apology, but for the life of me I can’t imagine why,” he stated.   
  
“Neither can I.”  She unpinned her hair and began shaking it out with her hands.  
  
“I don’t suppose you’re interested in tendering one either.”  
  
She tossed her head back and sat on the bed.  “Not really.  Would you have done any differently?”  
  
He eased down beside her and took her hand, noting that her eyes were brown again.  “No.  But I don’t   
have to like it.  And Buchanan still has to answer to me.”  
  
“Don’t bother.  I made it next to impossible for him to make any other choice.  As soon as I caught the   
gist of the situation, I knew what I had to do.”  Laura leaned back on the bed and propped a pillow under   
her sore joint.  “How did it go tonight?  I mean, I know it worked, but how did it go?”  
  
Remington began massaging her calf and knee.  “Ah, quite well.  Peterson was persnickety about the way  
it went down, but Felicia and I got the job done.”   
  
“Oh, that feels incredible.  Persnickety over what?”  
  
“I’d rather have him tell you.  I like watching him squirm.  By the way, I have a gift for you.”  
  
Her eyes swept down his body suggestively.  “Really?  And I haven’t even started.”  Laughing, he   
reached in his pocket and set the raw red diamond on her stomach.  Hesitantly, she picked it up and   
turned it over in her hands.  “It’s incredible.  Such a little thing can be at the center of everything.  What   
are you planning to do with it?”  
  
“That’s up to you.”  
  
“Me?  Why me?”  
  
“Because you paid the price for it.”   
  
“I don’t want it.”  
  
“I know.”   
  
“Remington?”  She suddenly became serious.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
Laura’s eyes watered.  “I want to go home too.”  
  
Remington reached his arm around her and pulled her into a tight embrace.  “We’ll go tomorrow, love.”    
  
  
  
Felicia was terribly disappointed in Michael.  Really, he had turned into a mushy sap over Lola.  And   
what was that business with the diamond?  Nobody had to like the gems, just find a good buyer.  She   
sulked and threw herself on the bed.   
  
  
  
In the morning, Remington rapped on Felicia’s door to wake her while Laura heated water for tea in the   
kitchen.  She could hear a murmured exchange before her husband joined her.   
  
“Ah, Laura?”  She looked up at him.  “You haven’t asked why Felicia is here.”  
  
“I imagine it’s because you want to make certain Interpol doesn’t get their hands on her.”  Laura eyed   
the blonde as she descended the stairs.  It really was quite unfair for her to be still so lovely and elegant,   
despite the slightly rumpled white dress.   
  
Felicia sashayed into the kitchen and kissed Remington full on the lips.  He winced and stepped away.    
“Felicia, we have a plane to catch.  Feel free to stay as long as you like, lock up when you leave, and, uh,   
take the back way out.  I’m sure Interpol would love to tail you to your next destination.”  
  
“Be a dear and call a cab for me.  I’ll see myself out.  Oh, and don’t forget my fee.”  She held out a   
hand.  
  
Remington winced again and shrugged in apology to Laura as he slipped a folded cashier’s check out of   
his jacket pocket.  He placed it in Felicia’s hand and kissed her cheek.  “Thank you.”  
  
“The pleasure is all mine.”  The woman nodded to Laura.  “Lena, it’s been a delight.  Keep him on his   
toes.”  Felicia gracefully climbed the stairs again and disappeared into a tiny closet.  Laura slanted a   
quizzical look at Remington.  
  
“Ah, hidden roof access.  One moment.”  Remington dialed for a taxi to pick up Felicia three streets   
over.  “It’s, ah, always handy to have another way out.”   
  
Laura leaned against the wall, smiling as she held her tea.  
  
Remington put one hand in a pocket and nibbled the thumbnail of the other.  “You’re really not angry   
with me?  Over Felicia being here?”  
  
“I wasn’t aware I had a reason to be upset with you.”  Laura sipped her tea calmly.  She was having too   
much fun watching her husband squirm.  “I imagine there are several friends of yours, none of whom   
actually need something as mundane as a key, that pop into any number of our residences from time to   
time.   
  
Inwardly, Remington flinched.  Sometimes there were nuances to marriage he hadn’t figured out.  He still  
wasn’t sure if he was in deep water.  
  
Laura continued to needle him a little more.  “And Felicia?  She has excellent taste in men.  I can’t fault   
her for that.”   
  
“Laura, I promise nothing happened.”   
  
Now she laughed outright.  “I know, love.”   
  
“You do?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“How?”  
  
She tilted her head at him and fired questions at him.  “You stayed chaste for how many years?  And I’m   
to believe that you can’t manage one evening with an old lover?  How many times have you turned her   
down now?”   
  
“Three.”   
  
“She won’t ask again, you know.”  
  
“Thank God.”  
  
Laura laughed out again and threw her arms around Remington.  She looked at the clock, noting that it   
was almost time for Peterson to pick them up.  “Mr. Steele, just what kind of trouble can we make in ten   
minutes?”  
  
“Well, now, Mrs. Steele, perhaps I should show you.”  
  
  
  
On Interpol’s airplane, Laura giggled at Peterson’s discomfort while Murphy gleefully spilled the details   
of the previous night’s exchange.  Brian actually unbent enough toward the end to chuckle.  He had to   
admit that Steele cleverly arranged the whole operation right under his nose.  At least now he understood   
how the thief managed to avoid him all those years.   
  
Afterwards, while Laura was telling Murphy and Mildred about the scene with Carlisle, Brian leaned over  
to Remington and held out his hand.  Tentatively, Steele shook it and arched a brow in query.  
  
“You did well.  Extraordinarily well.  I know you didn’t do it for Interpol.  But thank you, anyway.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
“Buchanan wants you, you know.”   
  
“Wants me for what?”  
  
“Interpol.  He’s wants all three of you to be agents.  Your skills, your wife’s brain and Mrs. Krebs magic   
fingers would be invaluable here.”  
  
“I won’t put Laura in that kind of danger.”  
  
“Is it any different from being a detective in Los Angeles?”  
  
“Significantly so.”   
  
Peterson tried a different tactic.  “Your abilities would be a tremendous asset here.  I imagine it would be   
more interesting than installing burglar alarms and writing up security contracts.”  
  
“You’ve done your homework.”  
  
“That’s my job.”  Peterson leaned back in his seat.  “Think about it.  Buchanan’s going to make a formal   
offer when you get back.”  
  
Remington was uncharacteristically quiet for the remainder of the flight.  
  
  
  
Murphy said his goodbyes almost immediately in order to catch his plane back to Denver.  “Kate and I   
will bring the boys in a couple of weeks.  I know she’ll want to see you.”  
  
“Can you handle more of the Steeles that soon?” Laura teased.  
  
“Well, if you put it like that--”  He grinned at her and caught her in a tight embrace before holding his   
hand out to Steele.  Remington took it and was surprised when Murphy pulled him in for a rough man-  
hug and a pat on the back.  “Brother--let’s not do this again,” Murphy said seriously.  
  
Remington coughed as his breath hitched and he thumped the other man’s back.  “Thank you, mate.”  
  
Murphy gave Mildred a kiss on the cheek and Laura one last mock-salute before he ducked into the dark   
car that would take him to the airport in Cork.  
  
  
  
Buchanan was waiting for Mildred, Remington and Laura when they returned to the house.  “Please, all   
of you, I’ve got something to discuss before you leave as well.”  James waved them into the living room.    
Mildred took the armchair while Remington and Laura sat on the couch, hand in hand.  Peterson propped   
up the wall in the background.   
  
“I must congratulate you three.  I’ve had experienced operatives who couldn’t do what you have done   
and with little to no preparation.  Ms. Krebs, the information you’ve pulled together is enough to begin   
legal proceedings against the rest of the Dublin Six for several types of financial fraud.”  
  
“Mrs. Steele, tipping off Carlisle was nothing short of inspired.  You and your husband are clear of the   
Six and probably with Carlisle’s gratitude.  Your insight into the investigation has shed light on a number   
of motives that we are pursuing with all possible speed.  From what I’ve read about your kidnapping and   
escape, along with seeing you in action, I’m very sorry Interpol didn’t snap you up out of college.  You   
would be an excellent operative.”  
  
“And Mr. Steele.  From start to finish, it’s obvious that without your abilities and contacts, none of this   
would have been possible.  You’ve done whatever was needed to be done, regardless of how difficult it   
was, and handled it brilliantly.  To make this short, Interpol wants you three in whatever capacity you   
would be willing to work.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Mildred asked.  
  
“Agents, trainers, occasional consultants, whatever--we need people like you.  We still have to take down   
the rest of the Six and we’d like your help.  Think about it.  I’ll be in the kitchen.”  
  
Peterson and Buchanan disappeared while Laura and Mildred both looked at Remington.  
  
“Why are you both staring at me?” he questioned.  
  
Laura brushed his hair out of his eyes before answering, “It’s a chance for you to dust off those rusty   
skills of yours and put them to good use.”  
  
He scowled at her.  “You’ll pay dearly for that insult.”  
  
She smiled.  “Oh, I hope so.”   
  
“What about the agency?”  
  
“Take it off the table for a minute.  Would you consider Interpol’s offer?”  Steele’s jaw dropped.  Laura   
giving up her agency?  She closed his mouth.  “Seriously, is this something you want to do?  We’d be in   
Europe doing a different kind of detective work, more demanding work that would rely on the things   
Daniel taught you.”  She looked over at Mildred.  “What do you think?”  
  
Mildred shook her head.  “Not for me.  I’ll travel wherever a case takes me, but I have plenty to do in L.  
A.  I’m not interested in spending my days teaching a bunch of computer geeks about hacking into a   
network.”  
  
Remington turned to Laura.  “What about you?”  
  
“I’ll go where you go, Remington.  You’ve given me the last six years of your life and on my terms.  If I   
love you, then I have to let you grab for the golden ring when it’s your turn.”   
  
He leaned in for a kiss.  “That’s not the golden ring, Laura.  You are.  I don’t want to work for Interpol.”   
  
“Why not?”  
  
“For one, honor among thieves and all that.  I can’t exactly arrest Felicia, can I?  No matter how tempted   
I might be.  And for two, because I want to be your Remington Steele, because I love what we do.  And   
because of what we discussed two weeks ago.”  Her brown eyes glowed and she gave him a soft smile.  
  
The phone rang.  Buchanan reappeared from the kitchen to answer it while the detectives tossed around   
ideas.  Remington was half-listening to the rapid exchange in French and when the agent hung up the   
phone, he put his arm around his wife.  As if he was carrying a heavy burden, Buchanan sat on the arm   
of the sofa.  “I just received word that O’Callaghan was found dead in his jail cell an hour ago.  On the   
surface, it appears he had a heart attack, but I think it’s safe to say an autopsy will show that he had a   
little help.”   
  
Laura let out a sharp breath and bolted from the room with Remington close behind.  He cornered her in   
the kitchen and she threw her arms around his neck while she shivered.  “Shhhh, love.  It’s over.  He   
can’t touch us.  Shhh.”  Remington's own body trembled with the realization that the nightmare of the   
past two weeks was truly finished.      
  
When she calmed, he tipped her chin up.  “Let’s go home, Laura.”   
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
They made a deal with Buchanan.  While the detectives refused to become agents for the police force,   
they hired a succession of Interpol trainees as interns for the agency.  Under Remington and Laura’s   
tutelage, these students became crack agents with a reputation for getting the job done.   
  
And on the first Monday they were back in the office, an enormous bouquet of five dozen roses was   
delivered to Laura.  The note read:  
  
 _Thanks, Johnny._

 

 

 


	26. Epilogue

Remington sat in his office chair with his back to the bank of windows.  He held a necklace in his hand,   
watching it spin as it dangled from his fingers.  The jewelry artist he found had surrounded the one-and-a-  
quarter caret pear-cut red diamond with blown platinum strands that made the stone look as if it were   
floating in space.  Wide platinum links the width of an infant’s hand made up the necklace from which   
the pendant was suspended.   
  
Laura walked in, carrying a file in her hand, putting it down when she saw what he was holding.  She   
rounded to his side and leaned against the desk.  “What are you going to do with it?”  
  
“I don’t know.”   
  
The past eight weeks had not been easy ones for either of them.  Laura still contended with nightmares   
and was back in physical therapy for her knee.  Remington struggled with his own conscience and   
wondered what he should have done differently.  His chest and arms were beautifully defined from all   
the hours he’d spent in his friend’s boxing gym working out his anger and guilt on punching bags and in   
the ring.   
  
“Laura … why aren’t you angry with me?”   
  
“About what?”  
  
“This whole bloody ordeal!”   
  
It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation and Laura gave him a similar answer every time.    
“Rei, why is this all your fault?  You didn’t book the flight to Cork.  You didn’t have us kidnapped.  You   
did what you had to do to get us out of a terrible situation.  And when you couldn’t do anymore, you put   
your trust in me to finish it.  What else am I supposed to ask of you?”  She leaned over onto the desk   
and brushed her fingers through his hair.  “They didn’t break us, love.  They couldn’t.”  
  
He pulled her off the desk and into his lap, still clutching the necklace in his hand.  “No, that they        
didn’t.”  Remington looked at the diamond again.  “I can’t sell it.  I don’t want the money.  You--we   
paid too high a price for it.  I don’t want anyone else to have it; I feel as if it’s a part of us somehow.”   
  
Laura had said she didn’t want it, but he hadn’t been able to resist seeing the stone cut properly.  And   
when he saw the finished gem, he found a jeweler that could turn his sketches into reality.   
  
She picked it up and held the pendant to the light, watching it dance and sparkle as it spun.  “It’s   
gorgeous.”  He took it from her again and with his eyebrows, he asked for permission to put it over her   
head.  She nodded.   
  
The necklace itself was a long one, allowing the diamond to rest just below her sternum.  Laura picked it   
up again and toyed with it.  “It’s incredible how something so ugly at the start can become extraordinarily  
beautiful.  
  
Remington placed his hand against the curve of her belly.  “My thoughts exactly.”

 

 

 


End file.
